Love and Twenty Six Nouns
by nattylovesjordy
Summary: A series of one-shots based on various nouns. B/B fluff, occasional angst, emotion, and typical ridiculousness between the duo will ensue.
1. Anthropology

_**I apologize in advance for the length of the A/N. It's ridiculous, I know. **_

_**Author's Note:** Writer's. Block. Conquered. This is actually an unwritten outtake from my Adjectives series because even back then I couldn't get myself to write it! HAPPY BONES PREMIERE WEEK! THIS IS PRESENT 2/5. (As I stated in my "Senses" series, I am posting five, yes **five**, times this week because it's premiere week. I am going to drive you all insane). _

**_Series Overview:_**_ Welcome to the second series in my "Parts of Speech" collection. (Yeah, I termed it). _I will be writing off of/portraying random nouns in alphabetical order. Styles, topics, timelines, and genres will change, but one thing will almost always be the same: this is a Booth/Brennan story. Sometimes it may focus more on one of the two, but it will almost always involve B&B (which, as some of you have learned, I occasionally define differently). I tend to write the characters into situations I create that often times do not correspond with a particular episode/season from cannon. I do not know if there will be any outtakes, as I don't currently have any written, but we shall see. I'm considering creating a Twitter account for my "Parts of Speech" fans, but I want your input on that. As for a posting schedule, until I am finished with my "Senses" series, I'll post this once a week. I will reconsider a schedule once that is finished. __

**__Setting:__**__ Haha to those of you familiar with my "settings." This is one of those without a definite timeline. I'm playing my "unimportant" card. Because I could do this, they're in a relationship. ENJOY!__

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><p><strong>Anthropology<br>**_The comparative study of human societies, cultures, and their development._

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><p>On both sides of the sofa the tableside lamps were on, illuminating the various papers, documents, and records scattered along cushions and the coffee table. The bed would have provided a larger surface area but both halves of the partners had agreed bringing work into bed would be a bad idea. However, as his back ached, Booth was reconsidering the decision.<p>

It was late evening when they both left work and quickly turned into early morning, yet they continued to sift through the case files, cup of coffee after cup of coffee.

Booth stretched his arms above his head and twisted his spine to relieve tension before rubbing the days-old stubble forming on his cheeks and chin. Brennan, who had been counting, allowed him to perform this action seven times before inquiring why he had fashioned the sudden obsession of rubbing his jaw.

"I think I need to shave." Exhausted and, clearly, unable to make a decision, he asked, "What do you think?" The question was unusual, as he never normally consulted anyone with decisions like that.

"Anthropologically, many cultures view men with grown facial hair as wise, sexually virile, masculine, and of high standards. Mesopotamian civilizations devoted great care to oiling and dressing their beards, even going through great lengths to curl them."

He stopped rubbing his chin and blankly stared at her. Too confused by her reply to respond, or to notice she hadn't really answered his question, he picked up a file and continued studying the facts. Eventually, his fingers once more found the growth on his chin.

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><p>On this particular morning his hair was not cooperating. Every time he thought he fixed it, he would turn to admire his handiwork from a different angle and he would find another strand sticking up in an odd way.<p>

Choosing which tie—a metallic appearing one with ridiculous shine—and what pair of socks—small stripes of reds, oranges, and yellows—had already taken him an unusually lengthy amount of time. He was hoping for a different outcome when he entered the bathroom.

That, clearly, hadn't happened. If it weren't for his important meeting maybe he would have cared less, but as it was, he wasn't going to stop until everything was perfect.

Holding her curling iron and makeup pouch, Brennan appeared at the door. Booth, smoothing the side of his hair down with even more hair product, looked over and stopped what he was doing. "Am I taking too long? Do you need the bathroom?"

"I—"

He interrupted her "My hair isn't working." After smoothing everything one more time, he wiped his hands on a towel and showed her his hair from various angles. "How about now? Does it look alright now?"

"In the mountainous parts of Kenya, the Samburu tribe takes great pride in their appearance. They typically adorn themselves with lavish designs of beads, feathers, and copper. While your tie does not appear to be copper, it does have quite a lustrous appearance."

She left the bedroom to use the guest bathroom. Booth called, to no reply, "But does that mean I look alright?"

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><p>This Thanksgiving Booth was able to spend with both Bones and Parker. Ever the woman that she is, she hadn't ever watched Thanksgiving football. This year was supposed to be a great game, so Booth forced her to watch the Green Bay Packers battle the Detroit Lions. At first she gawked at the absurdity of the fans wearing foam slices of cheese on their heads, but soon enough she was cheering right along with the crazy Wisconsin Cheese-Heads.<p>

One of the commercials involved a Santa figure which naturally prompted Booth to ask his son all about what he wanted for Christmas. Brennan had listened to most of their conversation but took no part in it.

Then Parker asked, "What about you, Bones? What are you asking Santa for?"

Instead of launching into her typical statement about how if Christ even was born he certainly wasn't born in December, she answered, "Instead of Santa Claus and Christmas on the 25th, the Lower Countries celebrate Sinterklaas on the 5th and 6th."

Both Booth boys stared at her with a look of bewilderment. After a pause, Parker turned back to his dad and started chatting all about the stuff he wanted. Booth tried to shoot her a look over his son's head of blond curls but she was too focused on the football game that had just resumed.

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><p>A large crash sounded behind the closed bedroom door, only one of many Brennan had previously heard. Clearly, as he had been getting dressed and practicing his speech, many things had gone awry.<p>

The first crash came before she heard him mutter about his pen not working for him to write on notecards with. Then she heard him hit what she presumed was the shower wall when, as he claimed, "the water _refused_ to warm up." There was also a clanking around in search of his toothpaste, a loud complaint about nicking himself with the razor, and some comment about how much he hates wearing "monkey suits."

A few silent seconds later she heard the door open and him call out, "Bones?" She stood up from her spot on the couch and placed a pen in her book to mark her place. They met halfway. "Does this tux make me look ridiculous? I feel ridiculous."

"The Bobo tribe of Burinka Faso is well known for the elaborate masks and outfits they wear for special occasions within the tribe."

Finally, after so many anthropological answers, realization dawned on him. Her replies had never been answers at all. "First with the history lesson on beards, then the Simba-Cookoo tribe and their feathers. You almost ruin Christmas for my son, and now you're comparing me to a group of monkey-clowns!"

She knitted her eyebrows in confusion. "The Bobo tribe is not a group of clowns, or monkeys, Booth. They are actually quite—"

"Bobo is a clown name, Bones." Slightly frustrated, he turned and walked back towards the bedroom door. Turning on his heels, he looked at her and requested she "shoot straight" with him.

"I don't know what that means." She saw the look on his face, an expression indicating her answer only irritated him more, so she added, "But I prefer if you have stubble it be very little because it can get itchy. Otherwise, I find that it suits you. Your tie was a bit flashy for my taste, but it was very Boothy and therefore worked. Your hair was fine, and I said nothing that would force Parker to lose his belief in the Christmas myth. Each culture has different celebrations."

She stepped close enough to him to adjust his crooked tie. "I find that you look rather… sexy in a tuxedo. The contrast between the pale coloration of your skin and the dark black of the suit is quite appealing to me."

His grin returned. "Oh yeah?" Her eyes flirted with his and he leaned down to capture her lips. "I wish you were coming with me tonight."

"I'll be back in two days, the short length of my trip unpleasing to my agent but quite pleasing to me," she answered, her tone deep and throaty.

She started to say something more about ancient Greeks, but he cut her off with a kiss. If that was what happened whenever she started stating Anthropology facts, she decided she would have to start using them more often, and he figured he'd have no choice but to cut her off with a kiss every time. Anthropology, his new favorite subject.


	2. Bras

_**Author's Note:** A weird, left-field word, I know. But hey! When I was brainstorming words, this one popped into my mind and I couldn't help but flesh it all the way out. Take it or leave it, I suppose. This doesn't push the envelope nearly as far as the show does (or as I may or may not do later), promise. I know I said once a week, but I also said I'd be posting 5 times this week, so this is a bonus chapter! Ding ding!_

__**__IMPORTANT:** PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL THE PREMIERE FOR ME IN YOUR REVIEWS. WHILE ALL REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED, I MAY BE UNABLE TO WATCH THE PREMIERE LIVE THIS WEEK AND HATE HAVING SHOWS RUINED. THANK YOU.**__**__

**_Setting:_**_ About 3 months after Brennan gives birth. Spoilers are to be ignored, of course. _

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><p><strong>Bras<br>**_Short for brassiere; a woman's undergarment for supporting the breasts. _

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><p>"Bones," Booth called from outside the locked bedroom door. "Are you almost ready?"<p>

If there was one thing he learned over the years in his various relationships it was to never rush a woman when she was making herself up. Especially, he most recently learned, if said woman is particularly hormonal.

It had been two weeks shy of three months since she gave birth but he's not convinced she's as emotionally put together as she's been claiming. She didn't struggle with any postpartum depression, but she definitely has been exhibiting mood swings. One moment, it seems, she is crying over a Home Depot commercial and the next she's particularly feisty.

He placed his sleeping daughter in her carrier and tripled checked the harnesses. "The nanny's waiting for us at the hotel," he added in hopes of pushing the process along.  
>Again, no reply. Impatient, and fractionally concerned, Booth rested his forearm on the doorjamb. With his forehead on his arm, he listened closely to the sounds on the other side of the door.<p>

He heard muffled sounds of drawers being opened and slammed shut and various fabrics being rifled through. A few times he heard the soft, muted thud of clothing being discarded onto the wood floors. He listened as her footsteps echoed to the closet, soon followed by the clanking and clattering of hangers.

A creak in the floorboards alerted Booth that she was walking past the door. He heard her mumble complaints under her breath and decided to try one last time.

"Bones? We're twenty minutes late. Are you almost finished?"

A distressed, "I can't find anything that fits," came from the other side of the door.

Booth silently chuckled and rolled his eyes. "You've lost all your baby weight already. I'm sure everything looks fine."

After a short pause, he heard the teeth of a zipper be violently pulled apart and the light padding of her feet. "Nothing looks right," she dismissed.

He looked at his watch and saw that they were nearing thirty minutes late. "If you don't open this door, I'm kicking it down."

Before he could, he listened as the lock faintly clicked. When he turned the knob and walked through the door he was immediately surprised by how messy the usually spotless room was. Then he saw what every piece of clothing really was and her state of undress.

Clad only in an ill-fitting towel, Brennan stood with her back to him as she scanned through the closet. Surrounding her feet, and covering pretty much every other surface in the bedroom, were bras. Lacy, pushup, nursing, normal, corset-styled, you name it, it was strewn somewhere.

The image immediately made him uncomfortable. It's not like he hadn't seen a bra of hers before, let alone dealt with one, but having so many out at once gave him the heebie-jeebies. It was like each cup was a set of eyes, and there sure were a bunch of them.

As he backed out of the room, she turned to him. "My breasts are too full to fit into anything," she complained.

Gulping, he reached for the first piece of fabric that he noticed. With one finger he lifted it up by the strap and examined it like it was a piece of evidence. _Great_, he thought. He picked up probably the sexiest, scantiest bra she owned. "Uh, this one?" She made it to his side of the room and snatched it from him before storming to the bathroom. "I, uh, I'm just going to… I'm going to wait outside," he called, closing his eyes and quickly exiting the room.

With the image of all the lacy items imprinted into his mind, he shuddered. Sensory overload.


	3. Crux

_**Author's Note:** This, out of the few chapters I've written so far, is my favorite (even though the last one is a bit overdone). I don't know exactly why, although I do have an idea, but I really like it. I grinned like an idiot all day after finishing it. I hope you enjoy it too! Also, thank you so much for all the reviews and alerts. I was overwhelmed the first day and it hasn't stopped!_

**_Setting:_**_ There's five "sections," so I posted a brief time for each section. _Also, for the first section, I mean that it happens during the Pilot episode but needs the background of the 100th to work. _ There's definitely other moments, but these are what I consider five of the most important/biggest... or at least a few of them, haha. _

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><p><strong>Crux<em><br>_**_A vital, decisive, or pivotal point: the crux of the trial was his whereabouts at the same time of the murder._

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><p><em><strong>The Second Beginning<br>**__(__Pilot/_100__th__ pre-series_)_

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><p>He certainly hadn't wanted to work with her argumentative, cold, squinty-self again. She had been even less inclined to deal with his cocky, unscientific behavior. Despite what the preferred, he called a few times in hopes of gaining her experienced, priceless eye but according to <em>her<em> preferences she had her assistant screen his calls. No, she could not talk. No, she was not available to consult on any cases.

The Gemma Arrington case, though, was different. It had long gone cold but he was determined to bring justice to all of those who loved her. If it were him he wouldn't want anyone to stop until his murderer had been caught and brought to justice.

His desperation caused him to take drastic measures to acquire her help. He set up the sting with the TSA and hardballed her into helping him. It was a surprise to both of them when she insisted on working with him past that case. True, she had missed the rush and thrill of solving murders, the brief taste forever tainting her palate, but she certainly hadn't wanted to get back in with him in the picture.

Regardless of what they wanted, that day was the first new beginning of it all. Not only was a partnership forged, but the buds of friendship and love sprouted as well.

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><p><em><strong>The Gamble and The Rejection<br>**__(100__th__ episode)_

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><p>Sweets' suggestion hadn't gone unnoticed by her. She picked up on the meaning behind the young therapist's statements, understood completely what he was urging Booth to do, but she chose to act oblivious. That way, in the dark, she could deny the real possibility of what was coming next. That way, feigning innocence, she could pretend she didn't understand what Booth was proposing.<p>

Even she, though, couldn't play dumb when he pressed his lips onto hers. She wanted it so badly to feel right, deeply wished she could ignore her mind and throw her heart into overdrive. But, it felt wrong and her mind once again preceded her heart.

He took a risk that could've been amazing. The outcome could have fulfilled his every desire, started something foreign but wonderful. Instead, the gamble was a great mistake.

She struggled, pushed him away. She had her reasons, many unspoken, and he understood. He understood but it still hurt, and at that point of time he especially hated her excuses. Understanding does not mean accepting.

Neither of them would know it for quite some while, but that wasn't "their moment." That night panned out exactly how it needed to. It pushed him into the arms of another woman, but it forced her to realize what she would be missing and, in turn, what she wanted.

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><p><em><strong>The Admission in the Storm<br>**__("Doctor in the Photo" 6.09)_

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><p>After, she thought it was a mistake. She was convinced that she never should have admitted her feelings to him, never should have admitted that she had been mistaken. She especially never should have broken down in front of him like that. She showed him her hand, a mistake both of them would now never make again.<p>

That night shoved him further into Hannah's arms. If not to Bones, and if not to Hannah, then to himself he had to prove and illustrate how devoted he was to the new woman in his life. Bones needed to see that her words wouldn't change anything, but he needed also to prove it to himself that his feelings for her were simply a thing of the past.

Watching her cry, hearing the words of his dreams, he wasn't so convinced. Then his brain kicked back in and took over again, forcing forth his created reality that Hannah was all that he needed now, that Hannah wasn't some rebound or consolation prize.

But even if her words wouldn't immediately change anything in her favor, at least he knew. Now, at least he understood her feelings and thoughts. Now, the only thing stopping them would be him and his decisions.

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><p><em><strong>The Ashes of Anger and Imperviousness<br>**__("The Blackout in the Blizzard" 6.16)_

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><p>Two simple scribbled times. Worthless particulates released into the atmosphere, or, as he claimed, the universe. Somehow this common, unspectacular phenomena would yield magic.<p>

That night, after their short talk in the elevator, and their longer conversation in his apartment, they finally landed back on the precipice of something. This was where they had found themselves two times before, where they should have been after their respective ventures to opposing sides of the world.

Finally, sitting in those ridiculous, or historical, to him, seats from the Vet, they had a new start. There was a freshness at the end of that night after burning those papers. The tension evaporated with the smoke of the papers and they both felt like they could begin moving forward, and inevitably closer to each other.

He was unattached and, like she said, she had waited for him. From there, only time and growth could tell where they would end up. But at least the destination was coming into view.

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><p><em><strong>The Real Crux<br>**__("Hole in the Heart" 6.22)_

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><p>Gradually, things had returned to normal. Their relationship had found its homeostatic balance and the shared looks and feelings had been steadily increasing in value and meaning.<p>

There is a time for everyone, or possibly, in their case, multiple times for two people to find each other. Sometimes, these moments of fate and destiny are overlooked. Other instances, they are rejected and bear no fruit. Most of the time, though, they aren't even realized until both people are standing with one foot in, waiting and deciding to jump in the rest of the way. It is those times, the times when regular, uncomplicated individuals take their moments and embrace them; it is those times that greatness takes its flight.

This was one of those times.

When the shot shattered the glass and the sound resonated through the cold, sterile lab, neither half of the partners knew what the significance of what had just occurred would be. As a seasoned cop and highly trained forensic anthropologist, they both knew what the shot meant to Vincent, but neither of them knew what it meant to _them_.

Crawling into bed with his arms steadily around her was never in her plans. As a matter of fact, she never expected to need him as a crutch that night. She assumed she could do what she has done for the past twenty-something years, and do it alone.

But she had changed, and she had changed too much. No longer was she the impervious, emotion-shy scientist. This new woman, not yet strong but not weak, needed someone, and she specifically longed for him.

As the tears died down, he continued to rub her back. He was safe, alive, and soothing. Being with him made her grief lightly die down.

She raised her head from his chest and met his gaze. This was it—they both knew it. They were halfway there laying together, their guards completely discarded. All it would take was one simple movement, one natural progression, and they would finally be able to embrace the moment that was theirs.

His hand reached up and brushed her cheek, drying the last of her tears. And that was all it took—the intimate gesture of consoling her and helping her push through her last impervious membrane.

There was a very short exchange of words between breaths and kisses, each deciding that what they were about to jump into was right. Finally, after so long of making mistakes and brushing past each other, their hearts beat as one; they breathed the same breath; they broke her precious laws of physics.

From that point, all they could do was hold onto each other and hope that the water they were about to jump into together was warm enough to keep them alive, something neither of them doubted.


	4. Death

_**Author's Note: **__This is definitely a different type of a very short ficlet. But hey, I like taking risks, so I took one. You probably won't ever get something like this from me again. Also thank you for your constant support. _

_**Setting:**__ Anytime after the last two episodes of S6._

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><p><em><strong>Death<br>**__The end of life; the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism._

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><p>Death. It is something they deal with everyday. It is something that they are accustomed to. It is what gives their lives meaning. It is often, too often, gruesome and surprising. Sometimes neither of them can understand why people brutally murder others.<p>

Death. Individually, they've come close to it. Together, they've faced it. For each other, they have rescued the other from it.

Death. Sometimes it overwhelms her. Sometimes it's something he's convinced they'll never be able to escape, no mater how hard they try. Sometimes all she wants is a break from it's manacles, a solo expedition of denial and oblivion. More times than he can count, he wants to take off with her and avoid it.

Death. It's what puts dinner on the table and gifts under the tree for Parker. It keeps him afloat financially and, somedays, that really irks him. It's something she solves for good reasons. But, it is something she uses to entertain others when, in reality, it's anything but entertaining.

Death. A natural end to the progression of life. A doctored result of someone else's hands. An end, regardless of the means.

Death. It is what brought them together. It is what brought her to him and what opened his arms to her. It opened their eyes.

Death. The death of one, the creation of another. Death created a life.


	5. Entrance

**_Author's Note:_**_ I like metaphors. I'm not the best at creating them, but I am fairly happy with this one. Thank you again for reading, reviewing, alerting, etc. You all make my day. _

_**Disclaimer: **Haven't said this before, but I don't own _Bones_. What a bummer, right?_

_**Setting:** Surprise, surprise, (not), but I don't have a set episode to align with this. Sometime around Brennan's trip to Maluku?_

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><p><strong>Entrance<br>**_A point or place of entering; an opening or passage for entering, such as a doorway._

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><p>It's sealed, her heart. The front doors are boarded up with layers upon layers of wood and sheets of various metals. It is easier for her to add more barriers and defenses to keep people out than it is to break them all down and let someone in.<p>

This isn't to say that once she lets people in they stay in there forever. In reality, her heart has its own exit. Some buildings only have an entrance that, in turn, have a dual purpose of both the entrance and exit. But, similar to some movie theaters or life, her heart has a separate exit to usher unwanted guests away. Every time she pushes someone she let in out, those barriers multiply.

The exit is unguarded. It is well lubricated and opens with even the slightest push. It opens with ease, but because she thought it to be unknown to another until she showed them out, she never worried about it. As a matter of fact, most of the time she stands with her back to it, more focused on strengthening the blockade of the entrance.

It is the exit he found—he snuck in through the backdoor. He didn't break it down and ambush her vulnerable heart like he would in a warranted raid of a suspect's house; she never even noticed he was coming in. No matter the various installments and upgrades, she couldn't stop him. He got in by his own, Booth way.

At first she didn't notice his presence, just as she didn't notice his gradual entrance. She was too focused on detecting invaders on the frontlines that she never even bothered to look over her shoulder. Once inside, he made himself comfortable, made sure that he blended in, but, when she did look around, there was proof of his residence.

When she finally spotted him and noticed all of the evidence of his impact on her life, she was scared. Her well-fashioned defenses, the obstructions that she had invested so much effort into constructing, had failed her. Those planks of wood, screws, sheets and bars of metal had become so large a part of her, as barnacles become part of an ocean pier. Discovering their failure was something that left her struggling to stay above choppy waters.

She decided to put even more into reinforcing her walls. She thought she expunged Booth from her surface, believed that he had become totally eradicated. But every time she turned, he, or something reminiscent of him, materialized. He had become part of the bloodstream, part of her DNA.

It took a trip to Maluku for her to realize she didn't want to keep scrubbing his influences on her heart away, that, instead, she wanted him to come back and bring with him everything she had bleached or tried to erase.

During that time away she transformed herself and her heart. She hadn't ever reinforced _all_ of her heart's walls, and having Booth around had weakened them further, even though she hadn't initially noticed. In Maluku she reshaped her heart and left a Booth-shaped imprint in it for him to fill, his own personal entrance, and once he was back she never wanted him to leave again.


	6. Fruitcake

**_Author's Note:_**_ You call can thank Some1tookmyname for this chapter. I know I do! Thanks! Via twitter, she gave me this noun and BAM inspiration hit. While I don't like writing fics involving Brennan's pregnancy or them and the baby (don't ask), I still write them. This is one of those times. Happy Thanksgiving!_

_**Setting: **Ignore spoilers because I don't follow them. Also, I don't know how pregnant Brennan will be for Thanksgiving, so hopefully what I have written works._

_**PS:** I apologize in advance for any typos there may be. I'm exhausted but I wanted to post this as close to Turkey day as I could and won't be able to tomorrow! Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Fruitcake<br>**_A rich cake containing dried or candied fruit, nuts, etc. Slang for doorstop and nutcase._

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><p>Angela Montenegro has never been a cook. She can make the basics, like eggs and sandwiches, and a few dishes, but she never has any spectacular meal for holidays. Regardless of her kitchen disability, she invited everyone over for Thanksgiving <em>and<em> refused to let Brennan help even though the other woman can cook quite exceptionally.

With half an hour before everyone was supposed to arrive, which meant about fifteen minutes before Brennan would, she was frantically running around the large kitchen. It was a struggle, and a true test of her patience and will power, but it was important that she be the one who made and hosted Thanksgiving dinner for the first holiday as a family with Hodgins and Michael.

She heard the bell ring and hollered that she would answer the door. Booth ushered a very pregnant Brennan inside the large foyer. The second Booth had taken Brennan's jacket off, and Angela had hastily hung it in the large hall closet, she suggestively helped her friend into the kitchen.

Booth was left to follow, carrying Brennan's bags. He walked through a sitting room, a TV room (he wanted to stay there for the rest of the day), and finally found the kitchen.

When she noticed his presence, Brennan exclaimed, "Oh!" She sat down the knife she was using to chop carrots and speed-waddled to Booth. "I made some sweet bread because you are hosting."

She shuffled through the bags and pulled out what appeared to be a rectangular loaf of bread wrapped in red cellophane. Angela put it on a plate and unwrapped it. She cut a piece and put it on a napkin for Booth before cutting one for herself. Before taking a bite, she looked up and saw Booth choking.

"Booth? Are you alright?" Brennan begun violently slapping his back.

He croaked, "Water."

Both women rushed, to the best of one woman's pregnant ability, to get him water. With their backs turned, he spat the big bite he took into the napkin. Brennan handed him a hearty glass of water and he chugged it all in one gulp, hoping the water would get rid of the God-awful taste in his mouth.

As Angela started to take her own bite, he coughed, "What is this, Bones? Fruitcake?"

She started blabbing about a recipe she found and ingredients. Angela finally took a bite and cringed. Booth shot her a look, eyes wide, to keep her from talking.

"…And I was at the store when I saw some durians. I thought that would be a nice addition. They smell good, right?" She held the loaf up to his nose and he wearily took a sniff.

He turned around and shoved his nose into the sleeve of his jacket. "It smells like rotting flesh!"

Brennan didn't hear him, his voice muffled by fabric, and asked, "What?"

Before he could reply, Angela swooped in to save the day. "Durians? Oh, sweetie, Hodgins is deathly allergic to durians," she lied as she scooped the offending "gift" off the counter and into the trash.

"What am I allergic to, babe?"

Hodgins walked into the kitchen with a sleeping Michael in his arms. Before anyone could say anything, Angela was patting his behind with a spoon and telling him to show Booth and Brennan to the living room so she could rest her feet. He recognized the look on his wife's face and complied without any questions.

As they walked with Hodgins, Brennan whispered, "I don't believe there are any durian allergies."

Booth put his hand on the small of her back and let her walk through a doorway first, but stayed close and answered, "I'm sure she was just embarrassed. She didn't want your fruitcake outshining the meal she's prepared."

Brennan looked at him in confusion. Soon enough, though, she said, "I have more at home. I know how much you like cooked fruit."

He plastered a fake, unenthusiastic smile on his face. "Yum. Fruitcake."**  
><strong>


	7. Game

_**Author's Note:**__ This is only the beginning, my friends. Within this series, I've made Angela quite fond of alcohol. I also generally try to avoid crack!fics nowadays, especially and specifically, for this genre, but sometimes I can't help it. This isn't a true crack!fic, but it is lightly laced with it. We shall see... (I also hope there isn't a glaring amount of typos because I really didn't have time to proof this one)_

_**Setting: **__Season 4's New Years Eve... I think? _

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><p><strong>Game<br>**_A competitive activity involving skill, chance, or endurance on the part of two or more persons who play according to a set of rules, usually for their own amusement or for that of spectators._

* * *

><p>There are two things needed to ring in the New Year: an overly attractive man with phenomenal kissing skills to make out with, and booze, lots of booze. Angela had definitely provided the later, and in abundance, but the first requirement was a bit more challenging after her break up with Hodgins.<p>

Regardless, her party would go on.

She invited everyone from the lab, with the exception of the interns, and a few others, and came up with various activities to do throughout the night. She knew none of them would have trouble staying awake because of how much most of them work, especially Booth and Brennan, but she still needed to find a way to spice up the night.

So, a drinking game was concocted and even more alcohol was purchased. (And, you know, she certainly couldn't let that money go to waste, so she'd have to find _some_ way to consume it all).

When everyone arrived, Angela greeted them at the door and handed them an envelope with their names on it. Each envelope contained a card with everyone's names, sans their own, and the specification of why they must drink.

On the wall next to the breakfast bar in the kitchen, also known as the booze bar for this particular night, hung a whiteboard with everyone's names on it. Every time they took a shot, Angela would put a tally mark next to their name. Whoever had the most tallies without figuring out why they had to drink by the end of the year would win a prize for being able to drink the most.

The person who figures it out first wins a prize as well but the whole point is to get drunk. Everyone else gets a prize as well, but the prizes get worse and worse the longer left in the game you are.

You can "get out" by either not being able to hold your liquor or not being able to drink anymore. If this is the case, and you haven't figured out why you have to drink, you do not receive a prize.

The guidelines weren't particularly logical, but Angela reasoned that logic is void when you're drunk. And she wanted everyone to be drunk.

Thanks to Cam, Angela was assigned a reason to drink, so by the time people arrived everything would be in order.

Booth and Brennan were the first to show up, having carpooled together. Brennan had begun talking animatedly about how she doesn't fully grasp the importance of celebrating the start of the New Year. Booth shut her up by shooting her a look and reminding her, in a rushed whisper, that they had already had this conversation and she had promised to give it a rest.

Hodgins arrived next. The second he walked through her door she took her first shot. The night was still young and she had a feeling there would be many more shots because of Hodgins to come.

Caroline Julian had come bearing a snarky sarcasm and expensive wine.

Sweets and, unfortunately, Daisy showed up at the door rather disheveled. Sweets even had his shirt on backwards which Booth was quick to comment on.

Angela had only invited the original crew, Caroline, and Sweets, but because Sweets wanted to come and begrudgingly couldn't leave Daisy, Angela had extended the invitation to her. Unfortunately, Booth thinks, his whole "don't talk to me as a way of bonding" con doesn't work with this Squintern.

The team mingled for a while as they waited for Cam to arrive. After multiple attempts to contact her, Cam finally answered her phone and canceled last minute. Nobody really knew why.

With everyone that was coming already there, Angela garnered their attention and outlined the game's rules. Brennan began to argue the logic of the game—why did the person who couldn't solve the question win? Can't people cheat that way?—but Booth quickly tamed the rationality beast once more.

Once everyone understood, and Brennan had finished protesting, Angela instructed everyone to open their envelopes, and pulled out her own master list, sans her name.

_Booth: Whenever he makes a pop culture reference or uses an idiom someone, particularly Brennan, doesn't understand, he must drink._

_Brennan: Whenever she says something squinty, she must drink._

_Caroline: Anytime she calls someone "Cherie," she must drink._

_Daisy: Anytime someone considers her, or deems her action, annoying, she must drink._

_Hodgins: Whenever he says something related to bugs and/or slime, he must drink._

_Sweets: Anytime he uses colloquial, Southern Californian Surfer Dude language, he must drink._

The top of everyone else's list read:

_Angela: Whenever she calls someone by a nickname or term of endearment, she must drink._

* * *

><p>Daisy was the worst. Not only was she annoying sober, but she was annoying drunk and she was the one with the most shots in her system. The worst part was that she could not figure out why she kept drinking and that annoyed her. Usually it led to her throwing a fit and everyone would just point to the alcohol.<p>

Caroline was the first one out of the game. She forfeited because, in her words, "She has a firm physique and reputation to uphold."

Hodgins was the first to guess why he had to drink. He had the least to drink and, therefore, only ended up buzzed. From then on he stuck to bear or tap water.

Angela's condition got worse the more she drank. Sober, she generally only called Brennan "Sweetie," and occasionally called Booth by a few different names, but when she was under the influence everyone's identity changed.

For Hodgins she stole Cam's nickname and called him "Hodge-Podge." Booth was permanently "FBI-Stud-Muffin" and Brennan was consistently "Sweetie." She referred to Caroline as Cherie and Daisy as "Ditzy." Oddly enough, Sweets transformed into "Baby."

Daisy was pretty much passed out from consuming too much alcohol by that point to care. Hodgins made sure to check and see if she was alive every now and then.

Sweets was the next to guess his reason to drink. He thanked his "mad skillz."

This left Brennan, Booth, and Angela. Honestly, everyone was surprised Brennan and Booth, possibly the two smartest people in the room, were still in the game. He might not have science, but Booth is street smart and a detective. If anyone, Angela figured he would have been the first one out.

Brennan, as intelligent as she is, is often oblivious.

Honestly, Angela wasn't trying hard to figure it out. She was just getting drunk.

With fifteen minutes before midnight, Angela stopped the game. Brennan had won simply because she drank the most.

As they waited for the countdown, they all did as they pleased. Sweets and Caroline argued over diction, Daisy continued to sleep off the alcohol in a chair with a party hat pulled over her face, and the others chatted.

Brennan increasingly laughed at her own jokes and often times leaned towards booth when she laughed. Angela found herself in Hodgins' lap. The alcohol made it a lot less uncomfortable.

When the countdown began, Angela put drinks in front of everyone and insisted they clink glasses and kiss the first person they saw.

In the end, Angela ended up with her hands tangled in Sweets' hair, Caroline planted a kiss on Hodgins' that left a bright red lipstick mark, and Brennan kissed Booth on the cheek.

They were both fighting the alcohol haze, the looming stupor, as they held each other's gazes and Brennan removed her lips from his cheek. The air of imminence was palpable, but before Booth could do anything Angela moved on from Sweets to Booth.

It was going to be an interesting year.


	8. Home

**_Author's Note: _**_Yes, I am alive. I know some of you were worried, what with the papers and lack of sleep that I was subjecting myself to. I've had this written for a while, and STILL haven't watched the most recent episode, so if it's now moot... Well, I don't know that! And I do apologize for my absence. Honestly, it was pretty much unavoidable, but I still feel bad! _

**_Setting: _**_Sometime this season, in the foreseeable future, I suppose. _

* * *

><p><strong>Home<br>**_Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do, but how much love we put in that action.  
><em>_- Mother Teresa_

* * *

><p>Compromise. Sometimes it's something neither of them are sure they are capable of. More often it seems as if they set an ultimatum and force the other to chose from that given set of choices. There isn't usually an in-between, although sometimes there has been, and the choice never feels wholly satisfactory.<p>

This time, the one of them that usually sets the ultimatum has decided to fold, to give in to her desires. Because she compromised for him.

It's a big house, far larger than he's ever lived in. The house has a decent backyard with a cluster of trees that he just knows could support the perfect tree house. There's a patio and deck with a fire pit and barbeque. In essence, it is the backyard of the American dream.

The actual house is roomy but has a cozy feel. There's a large room with windows and built in wooden bookcases for her office. There's also a room to become his own mancave, where he can spend countless hours with his son watching hockey and football and baseball when it's too cold outside to play themselves.

The kitchen has a breakfast nook and bar with plenty of counter space for when she wants to host dinners or they are shuffling around each other in the mornings. There's even a little vegetable garden outside the window over the sink.

Attached to the kitchen is a dinning room, or what he would consider a dinning hall. She commented how her large table would fit perfectly and he mentally noted to not allow that make the move and ruin the dark-wooded room.

The house has a large family room, an area he can already imagine watching classic cartoons with his daughter in. (Or, if she insists, some Disney Princess movies.)

If the rest of the house didn't hint at the dent buying this would put in his pocket, the master bedroom and nursery did. The nursery, or at least the room they would transform into a nursery, was filled with windows, giving the room an ethereal feel.

The master suite was plenty big with two walk-in closets and a large tub in the bathroom. It was definitely a room he wouldn't mind living in.

As they walked through the other upstairs bedrooms he watched and listened to how excited she was. Her eyes lit up when she talked about giving Parker his own room and how it had everything they wanted.

The price wasn't nearly as steep as her other choices, and for that he was grateful. But, at that time, that was the last thing on his mind.

They had moved back to the nursery. The sun was growing closer to the horizon outside. The orange light shone through the windows and wrapped her body in a gold glow. He felt overwhelmed by how much he loved her and how perfectly everything felt.

He stepped closer to her, wrapped his arms around her bulging abdomen from behind. When the real estate agent announced her leave, he was too wrapped up in her beauty to notice.

"What do you think, Bones?"

She craned her neck to look at him. "It's perfect."

Booth nodded and looked around the room. Slowly, a smile crept over his features. The other house they had looked at had been perfect but too expensive. This house, too, was too expensive but he knew he had to give in. It was a battle, sure, and for a long while he stood in contemplative, struggle-filled silence. He fought, opened his mouth multiple times to speak, until finally he said, "Home is where the heart is."

"I am familiar with that phrase," her quiet and husky voice replied.

"You love this house. Your heart is here, and mine is wherever yours is." Both of them remained silent until he added, "Is this the one? Is this the nursery our daughter will sleep in, where you'll read her books and I'll rock her to sleep?"

She nodded, and just like that it was theirs, he gave in. It felt like home, like _their_ home, as long as she was in it with him.


	9. Insight

_**Setting: **Let's just pretend there isn't one. Wait, no need to pretend because there I don't have one. _

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Bones_ and I do not own _It's A Wonderful Life_, either. I used dialogue from, and sorta loosely based this story off the basic premise of, that movie. Although, does it also tie in with _A Christmas Carol_? I wouldn't know, because I really don't like Christmas movies or music. I avoid them like any modern day version of the plague. _

_**Important: **The italic font is a "dream flashback" because the dream happens before the first section. If you know either of the aforementioned tales you know what I mean by dream. If you haven't... I don't know how to explain it. But it's not what's happening in Booth's real life? Alright. Sure.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Insight<br>**_A penetrating mental vision or discernment; faculty of seeing into inner character or underlying truth._

* * *

><p><em>"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"<br>__- Clarence in __It's A Wonderful Life_

* * *

><p>It was another dream, another instance that felt so real. He had fallen asleep watching Christmas movies on TV. He started with the cartoon version of <em>The Grinch<em> and watched _A Christmas Story_. By the time _It's A Wonderful Life_ came on the screen, his eyes had already begun to droop but he fought sleep to watch as much of it as he could. Booth didn't last long, but he had watched enough for a dream to ignite in his mind.

This time, though, when he woke up he knew the difference between the dream and the present, and he knew what he had to do. As quick as lightning, he ripped the sweat-drenched blanket off of his body and threw his feet over the side of the couch. The clock in the kitchen read 4:47am and, even though he knew it was far too early to bother anyone, his mind was set. His toes padded along the ice-cold floors, his mind more focused on grabbing his wallet, keys, coat, and rushing out the door.

Without even bothering to lock it, he fled from his apartment to go to hers.

* * *

><p><em>He was talking to a random stranger at the bar. It was clear that he had consumed plenty of alcohol because he was rambling about all of the things in his life he hates: the army, the number of people he's killed, having to work with his partner but not be able to touch her because they drew a line and, even if they hadn't, she'd never go with someone like him. His sentences were slurred, not making complete sense, but Booth still felt the anguish, felt the pain and rejection because the alcohol couldn't quite erase it.<em>

_Suddenly that man next to him at the bar was giving Booth a proposition, a chance to change his life. Maybe the alcohol had worn on him, or maybe he was a lot less happy with his life than he thought, but Booth accepted and the scene quickly flew before his eyes. _

_The cognizant part of his brain knew this wasn't how the movie goes, knows that something about what was happening was backwards and twisted, but he said nothing. Instead he remained silent and watched the scene that played before him. _

_The many clocks around his room showed him the time, 4:47am. Right below the time, the clock's date caught his eye. This was the month Rebecca got pregnant and they spent every night together. Yet, looking around, he sees no evidence of a woman permanently staying with him. _

_To the stranger from the bar, he turns and states, "I thought you were going to change my life, not ruin the past."_

_The stranger nodded and pulled Booth's attention back to the scene. "I am changing your life, changing your future, but I can only do that by first transforming your past." _

_Both of them sat in silence for a long while, Booth quickly growing impatient and trying to find a way to leave. Without luck, he watched his younger self lay in bed, a sheet wrapped loosely around his torso. His muscles were not as defined and he was missing the scars from his back. _

_His bedroom was plain and worn down, much like the place he lived in right after he returned from the army, before he had a job. _

_Suddenly, the cacophony of the alarm startled the man sleeping in the bed. His hand thrashed at the clock, but it didn't stop the shrill sound. Instead it fell to the ground and Dream-Booth cursed. _

_Without any rush, the younger Booth walked into the bathroom, used the toilet, and slowly rinsed his mouth with water. After throwing on a pair of boxers, a dirty shirt, and worn out jeans, he made his way to the kitchen where he searched the empty pantries for any sign of food. He found a solitary piece of bread, the end piece with all the crust, smelled it, and ate it. _

_After tying his work boots, he left the run down apartment and walked to work. He was someone who picked up trash on the sides of roads. He didn't talk to anyone, never once smiled. _

_With the money that he did get, which was barely anything, the younger Booth went to various pool halls and bet everything. The real Booth recognized the losing streak and tried to stop his dream counterpart from continuing without avail. All of the money was lost and he was kicked out of the bar, drunk as hell._

_Without any other form of human communication, he drank more scotch, the only thing he truly had in his pantry, and fell asleep on the couch. _

_There was no Rebecca, no Parker, no FBI job. Nothing. He hadn't even enlisted in the army, a fact Booth could tell from the lack of scars. _

_Utterly depressed by the sight, Booth pled to leave the scene, to go further in his future. He had hope, a longing for a better life to come. Maybe he hadn't looked close enough to see the scars on the younger man's back, maybe Rebecca wasn't with him that night because… He didn't know why and was more than aware that he had never been with Rebecca in such a rundown apartment. _

_The man changed the scene. This time the focus wasn't on himself, for which he was thankful. Instead, he got to see his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, slaving over a skeleton. Booth smiled at the stranger, but the stranger's face remained composed. _

"_See," Booth said, feeling like he finally had all the answers, feeling reassured. "I knew that last place wasn't real, was just your way of reminding me where I came from."_

_The other man replied, "Take a closer look, and listen to what I have to say."_

_Booth peered closer at Brennan and noticed the bags under her eyes. He wasn't surprised, not in the least. She always worked too much, too late, and he figured that his representation would soon enter the picture and force her to leave._

_Except he never came. Nobody did. _

"_Dr. Brennan is alone," the stranger started. "When you first met Dr. Brennan, she didn't have many friends. She had Angela, but she didn't treat her very well, didn't know how to be a friend. She had Dr. Goodman, but he was her boss, a colleague, not someone to get drinks with after work. Dr. Addy was simply her assistant, and while she was happy to help him, after a while, any happiness died. She has not written a single novel—never found inspiration to. Dr. Brennan has convinced herself, to a very shallow level, that the life she leads is indeed a life. Dr. Brennan tells herself that she is happy, that being alone and working is everything she wants. However, there are times when even she cannot believe it."_

_Booth's eyes analyzed Brennan more closely this time. He noticed the extra slump of her shoulders, the harsh lines that mar her face and indicate stress and not nearly enough happiness. It's obvious that she's not happy, and it's obvious that she doesn't take care of herself. Brennan is always so confident, but somehow, here, she isn't. Clearly, he thinks, time wore her down. _

_His stranger guide confirms this, as if he hears Booth's thoughts. "Everyone gave up on her long ago. Angela tried. She tried to take the young scientist clubbing, tried to introduce her to various men that were looking for deep, meaningful relationships. Angela tried to talk to her, attempted to bring her out of her stoop more times than either of them can count. But eventually, it became too much. Angela couldn't deal with it anymore, could not continue to jeopardize her own happiness or sit and watch her friend wallow in depression. Watching Dr. Brennan depressed Ms. Montenegro, so Angela eventually had to move on." _

_Shocked and angry, Booth turned to the man. "What do you mean? I met her, we met! We work together! Cam introduced us!"_

_He shook his head. "You never met Dr. Saroyan because you never got a job with the Bureau. You never met Dr. Brennan because you had never even heard of young singer who was murdered, let alone had anything to do with the investigation. Dr. Brennan—"_

_"Bones," Booth interrupted, his tone hostile and short. "I call her Bones." _

_"Fine, fine. You never met Bones. Maybe you don't realize how much you changed her life, Seeley, but you are the very reason she is stuck in a miserable life right this very moment."_

_Overwhelmed, Booth turned his back to Brennan and the stranger. No one even came to check up on her, nobody cared. He punched one of the walls of the lab, although Brennan never noticed. "I'm done, I get it. Let's go."_

_The stranger shook his head and changed the scenery once more. "We have one more stop."_

_Rain mixed with blood, turning the puddles on the gray cement an eerie crimson. It took Booth many minutes to notice the cold liquid pouring onto his body. Only then did he turn around._

_However, the action was one he wishes he never did. Seeing a dead body, a stranger, is one thing. Seeing someone you know, maybe even someone you are close with, is another. Neither experience compares to catching the sight of your own corpse being berated by torrential rain, blood slowly flowing from your gut. _

_His jaw was bruised and bloodied, his left eye swollen shut. It was the worst he's ever seen, like an egg was on top of the left eye. No one was around. It was just the dead body of himself at his current age, and dumpsters reeking of rotten food. _

_After the silence, the man beside him quietly spoke. "You were drunk. You bet money you didn't have and lost, multiple times on multiple different nights. Some guys offered you a hand and you accepted. Only, you never won, never earned anything to pay them back with. The people were shady, a group of criminals. If they couldn't have the money you owed, they said, you would owe your life as well. But you did nothing, made no move to try and fix it. You kept placing bet after bet, waiting for luck to strike. It never did."_

_Booth heaved, his hands resting on his knees for support. If this was what his life was going to be like, how it was going to end, he wanted nothing to do with it. He would take the guilty conscious of his time in the army, willingly accept the holidays he can't spend with his son, be thankful for the torture his partner puts his heart through. Anything, he pleads. Anything but this._

_"I get it," he screamed. "I get it! Get me out of here! Now!"_

* * *

><p>That's when he had woken up. Before he knew it he was pounding on Bones' door, successfully waking her from a peaceful sleep.<p>

Her hair was disheveled, her eyes still glued shut. Her lips were chapped and she had a smudge of mascara under her eye that she hadn't gotten off the night before. She was beautiful and he was determined to change her mind, to repay her for the world he had forced upon her with his own selfishness. Never again did he want to see those bags, those horrifying lines, across her beautiful features.

"Booth," she said, confused by his presence and disoriented from sleep. "Is something wrong? What do you need?"

"Tell me, Bones. Tell me, what is it that you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. You want me to leave and I-I can do that, too. But I won't give you more time and more space. That's over, through."

"What are you talking about, Booth? It's barely five in the morning. Is there a body?"

He shook his head and wrapped his hands around her bare elbows. "Bones, I messed up. I never joined the army, never had Parker, never met you. I was murdered in an alley because of my gambling problem. I'm not going to let that happen, Bones. I'm not going to let you or myself suffer any longer."

"Booth…"

Her tone was warning and he could tell what he was babbling didn't make a lick of sense. But that was okay. There was time for him to explain. He just needed to hold her, to know that he still has a chance, that all the times he rejected her and she rejected him can be put in the past. He took a step closer, but hesitated. His mouth opened and he started to explain, once more speaking of past events that never happened but were real in his dream, successfully confusing her.

Startling both of them, an elderly man walked past her door. When he saw them, he recognized the struggle despite the great desire, and muttered, "Why don't you kiss her instead of talking her to death?"

Booth turned, his hands still wrapped around Brennan's arms. "You want me to kiss her?"

The old man, whom looked oddly familiar to Booth, raised his cane and pointed it at Booth. In a warbled voice, the man said, "Ah, youth is wasted on the wrong people," before shuffling down the hall.

Booth wouldn't have that, refused to prove that man, and his dream, true. Softly, he caressed her lips with his own. She sighed into his lips before moving her hands up to lightly rest them on his chest.

Somewhere in the distance, he swears he heard bells ring.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Happy Holidays, everyone! <strong>_


	10. Jasper

_**Author's Note: **Here's the first noun I actually wrote._

_**Setting: **Because nothing really happens, there's not really a setting. Although I guess it is technically after/during/around/(I don't know) S2's "The Blonde in the Game."_

* * *

><p><strong>Jasper<strong>_**  
><strong>If she were ever to have a pet, she would want a pig. When asked, she said she'd name it Jasper. _

* * *

><p>He wants to give her the world, everything she's missed out on. He wants to give her every experience she never had, no matter how juvenile. He wants her to be respected, wants her to have the life that was robbed from her, wants her to be loved how she deserves to be loved. He wants to spoil her, to fulfill her every wish. A plastic toy is only a small fraction.<p>

It's why he teaches her. She didn't have a mother, father, or older brother to teach her the essential societal rules. She didn't even have a good friend to teach her all of the cultural references, sayings, and idioms. He hates that she had no one, hates that she was so hurt that she was emotionally stunted as a young girl, that she was so hurt that it inhibited her so long in her adult life.

It's why he instilled in her that a relationship with her father, and with her brother, was important. She deserves a family, deserves to know people love her, especially those who abandoned her. For as bad of a man Max Keenan is, he's done some of the right things for his daughter. He broke her heart all over again after coming back, a few times, but Booth can see the good he has done for her.

It's why he tried to get everyone to pitch in and get her a pig. If that was the pet she would want, and if the only "pets" she ever had were her dissection subjects after her family abandoned her, then a pig he would get her. He knew it was irrational—a pig living in an apartment in D.C. would never be allowed, especially by the Queen of Rationality—but Booth figured that was part of the experience.

His "Brennan-side" won out, along with the fact that nobody wanted to help him, so in the middle of their case he made a trip to a store and bought her a plastic pig for three dollars and some change. If he couldn't give her the pig experience, at least he could give her a pig.

As he drove her home that night, he watched her thumb rub over the pig's back. Whether she was conscious of it or not, Booth wasn't sure, but he was glad it meant something to her. She certainly did to him.


	11. Kef

_**Important Author's Note/Setting: **For those of you who read it, who remembers Suburban from my Adjective series? Well, here's a small little continuation. If you haven't read that one, you shouldn't be too confused, but here's a recap anyways: Booth, Brennan, and Sweets go undercover in the 'burbs sometime soon after Booth's brain surgery at the end of S4. The partners end up having to share a room, and therefore a bed. That's where that chapter left off and this one begins. _

* * *

><p><strong>Kef<br>**_A state of drowsy contentment._

* * *

><p>The sun slowly woke him up. The slits that were fortunate to peek through the half-closed blinds retracted into the plain bedroom. The increasing light stung his closed eyes, but the feeling of warmth on his face was pleasant.<p>

Normally he was a light sleeper, a side effect of being in the army. Somehow he usually spent the night in a state of slightly conscious. This ability tended to be heightened when on the clock. For this undercover job, though, he oddly managed to have the best night's sleep in a long while. He even woke up partially disoriented, unaware that he was living a sanctified lie.

He wiggled his fingers and felt the soft, warm skin of the woman lying beside him. It didn't seem out of the ordinary; it didn't even surprise him. In actuality, the feeling of her skin under his felt normal, like waking up with his arm around his partner's midsection, his fingers lightly brushing across the delicate of her stomach where her shirt rose in her sleep, was something he did every morning.

He was happy, more content in this moment than in any other with her or anyone else. His mind hadn't fully woken up, hadn't processed the scene to reveal reality, so he had forgotten they were working a case, that they were undercover as a married couple and, therefore, she wasn't in bed with him for personal pleasure. In his state of drowsy contentment, it all felt so real.

Everything was slightly foggy, almost like it was a dream, but when he moved his fingers, he knew he was really, truly feeling her, not the coma her, but the real her.

He didn't know what day it was, didn't care about how late to work they would both be as he was still under the impression that this was a normal day; he simply didn't want to move. He remained in bed, listening and feeling her even breathing, snuggled up close. Her plus the sun made him content.

Deliberately and leisurely, his thumb moved in circles along her hipbone, eventually following the contours of the iliac crest visible through her toned skin. He shifted his body up in the bed, resting his unshaven cheek closer to the top of her head, his nose gently running along her skull as he moved. Without any hurry, he lifted his hand and traced her arm, taking great care to feel every slight bump of her arm where a stray freckle graced her skin.

With the heat warming his body, and his utter joy, he began to fall back into a peaceful slumber, instinctively placing his hand back on her hip.

When Sweets started calling their names, Booth snapped out of the life he was living. Reality came flooding back, nearly drowning him. Brennan stirred and he didn't know what to say. She turned her head back to face him, her expression one of slight fear. It wasn't a fear of him, but a fear of the awkward moment that was about to ensue.

After a pause during which neither of the partners replied to Sweets' exclamations, Brennan turned back towards the door and said they were awake, just getting dressed. The answer soothed the young psychiatrist and he announced that he'd be downstairs waiting.

This time, Brennan turned her whole body towards Booth. Slowly, he removed his hand, but something in her eyes stopped him, leaving his hand lingering in air over her hip. They silently stared at each other for some time before he threw the covers from his body and got out of bed.

It was too soon.


	12. List

**_Author's Note: _**_'__L' yielded many possibilities. Some cliche, some more original, but none that I liked. To try and unblock my writer's block, I gathered 10 random words that would hopefully spark an idea. Well, the list dwindled to 5 and no 'L' came to mind. So then I thought, hey! Let's just do something totally different. Maybe it's cheating, but I make the rules so I'm free to do whatever I want, right? Hehehe. While there's no real 'L' word, there is an 'L' word. Ish._

_**ALSO**, to the anonymous reviewer named Lucy, in the case that you may read this one, I just want to say THANK YOU for all of your very kind reviews on my various stories. They were A-W-E-S-O-M-E. On that note, a big thank you to **everyone** for the amount of support you have given me. You ALWAYS make my days so much better and put a huge smile, and possibly a small embarrassed blush, on my face.  
><em>

**_Setting: _**_Posted with each word._

* * *

><p><strong>List<br>**_There is a long list with many nouns that relate to their partnership, friendship, and relationship._

* * *

><p><strong>Suspension <strong>_(S6E01)_

When she left, she honestly thought it was a pause, a slight postponement of the inevitable. They had grown closer and closer and, despite her fervent denial, she honestly thought that when they returned everything between them would start up again, that the year long sabbatical was what they needed.

What a fool she was.

* * *

><p><strong>Responsibility <strong>_(No setting. This is a made-up story)._

She was the one who pulled the trigger, who jumped the gun and shot before thinking. She ended the man's life, stopped him from harming any other women, and for that they were both glad.

But he couldn't let her take the responsibility. She was unsettled, her stomach far more swollen than he preferred it to be if she were to be wielding guns, and he couldn't allow her to go through the process of a shooting, especially one such as this. This was his family and he had to take responsibility.

* * *

><p><strong>Grasp <strong>_(No comment. Make of it as you please)._

This was it, they both knew it. This was the climactic moment of their partnership, the moment of no going back. If they did this, there would be no going back, and they both knew it. Maybe they would make it, maybe they wouldn't. Either way, as they looked in each other's eyes, they knew they had to try.

Her grasp tightened around his hand and he nodded. Together, they resumed forward motion.

* * *

><p><strong>Chef <strong>_(Another made-up story)._

Gordon-Gordon watched as the two conversed. It was terse, at first, with long pauses in the middle of sentences and topics. For a while each of them had a hard time meeting the other's eye. But, as the night went on, and the courses rolled out alongside wine, he watched the tension from their bodies release, their shoulders shrug and their postures grow less erect. Only then did he see a spark of something, the slight hint that something more had happened and that the something more was exactly what they had been avoiding.

* * *

><p><strong>Three <strong>_(S6E09 "The Doctor in the Photo")_

Three days. It takes three days for the eyes and brain to readjust, three days for the body to grow used to eating less food. It takes three days for something to be a pattern, become a routine. But, as she has learned, it takes much longer than three days for the heart to heal.


	13. Meaning

**_Author's _**_**Note:** Here it is, the middle chapter. Thanks for sticking with me this far!_

**_Setting: _**_Sometime after the S6 finale._

* * *

><p><strong>Meaning<strong>  
><em>What is intended to be, or actually is, expressed or indicated; signification; import: the three meanings of a word.<em>

* * *

><p>It is never a "goodbye" with him; he never simply calls out, "Bye," over his shoulder as he grabs his keys and heads out of the apartment door. Since they have been together, he always makes sure to meet her gaze and, with conviction, say, "I'll see you later," or, "I'll be back." Sometimes there is an added piece of information tacked onto the end of the statement, like a "soon," "in a few hours," or, "tonight." But, without fail, no matter the situation, he always makes sure there is no room for miscommunication or worry.<p>

He says he is coming back, even tells her when, and he always returns, because he means it. If he is going to return later than he expressed, he calls. If something comes up at work, he calls.

At first, when everything between them was fresh and they were trying to figure out their new lives, it slightly annoyed her. She was struggling to remain independent, but to adapt to a situation when she has to be more dependent on him, and having him check-in with her more than before their change in relationship, was frustrating. She thought him clingy and she took it as an offence against her tendency to flee.

After some time, and a confession to her best friend, she understood the truth behind why he makes sure she is constantly apprised of his situation, the hidden meaning behind the words that, out of anybody else's mouth, would be meaningless.

He is making sure she knows he is not leaving, never to be seen again. He is making himself clear so she does not need to worry, because she certainly tends to be convinced the people in her life are disappearing.

But, more than that, every time he tells her, it is a promise that he will never leave.


	14. Naturism

_**Author's Note: **__Now, I know: not everyone goes around nude all the time. But, I mean, come on. Let's have a little fun, yeah? This one was hard to write, but it happens. By the way? P? Now _that's_ a letter I'm looking forward to! _

_**Setting: **__Whenever._

_**Summary: **A _very brief_ insight to an interesting case.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Naturism<br>**_The custom of wearing no clothing; communal nudism._

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

"But Booth, it's the only way that this group of people will trust us! Anthropologists always blend into the society that they are studying as not to disrupt their way of life, and to gain their trust. Don't you see that—"

"No, Bones. Just, no."

Brennan turned towards Sweets for support. Instead, the young psychologist's eyes were practically bulging out of his head and his skin was sheet white. "I... you... uh..." Clearly there was no way that he was getting involved.

"Booth, be rational," she tried, turning back to her partner. One hand was on his hip while the other rubbed at his eyes, a telltale sign that he was starting to get angry. "You and I both know that this is the only way to catch this guy. We tried getting a warrant, but the judge ruled that there wasn't enough evidence. If we were to go undercover, we could expose the human trafficking ring and catch the killer."

Finally, he stopped pacing and met her eyes. "Bones, we are _not_ going undercover in a nudist colony."

Hip cocked, she evenly replied, "Naturism is nothing unusual, Booth. As a matter of fact, the custom of wearing clothing is more unnatural than the lack of it. Ancient tribes in…"

_Here we go_, Booth thought, shooting a glare at Sweets for not backing him up.

* * *

><p>"Look at all of the different human interactions, Booth!"<p>

The FBI agent rolled his eyes and adjusted his position as to cover more of himself, unlike his partner who seemed to be enjoying her new found freedom. "Yeah. Real interesting that people living in a civilized country actually walk around naked," he muttered, low enough for her not to hear.

Not that she would have, anyways. This study was proving quite fascinating for her, absorbing her entire focus. Various times, as they sat on the picnic bench in the colony's park, she had tried to point out various "anthropological finds." All he wanted was for her to point out their murderer so they could both put some clothes on.

Needing a safe place to look, he stared down at his arms. Noticing the slight pink flush of his skin, he asked without thinking, "Did you at least put sunscreen on, Bones?" The father in him hoped she did, but the man inside of him _really_ hoped she did because he wasn't sure that he was going to be able to take rubbing sunscreen on her back. Not like this.

She shook her head. He groaned.


	15. Offering

_**Author's Note: **__Special thanks to **penandra**__ for sending me the sayings from her chocolates many months ago. They are from her chocolates, my own chocolates, one of which is on my wall, and where I found them on an online list._

_**Setting: **__Valentine's Day circa S6, after Booth and Hannah have broken up (hopefully. I know they are by the time V-Day rolls around, just not how much time passed between the two episodes). The dates therefore follow February 2011._

* * *

><p><strong>Offering<br>**_Anything offered as a gift._

* * *

><p>On Tuesday, February 1st, Brennan rushed into her office in search of a file that an Agent had requested be sent over as soon as possible. She started by looking through the pile stacked on her coffee table, but didn't find it there. Next she checked her desk, her hands flying over the various papers, pushing things around, until she heard something drop.<p>

At the same time she spotted the desired file, Brennan's fingers reached and picked up the fallen object. Without looking at it, she set it on her desk for later and rushed to the awaiting courier.

Finally able to take a breath, she returned to her messy office later that evening. Her life had slowly begun spinning off course, and with how busy she had been lately, organization had been one of the last things on her mind.

With a lesser furry, Brennan gathered the various files and reports, putting them back where they belong. Once she could see the glass of her desk again, she noticed the object she had earlier dropped.

Curious, she detached the piece of Dove Chocolate from the index card and read the note.

_Brennan—every woman needs chocolate and advice every now and then. This is mine, for you. – Angela_

Slightly confused, Brennan peeled back the wrapper. A string of words on the inside of the wrapper caught her eye.

_Your smile lights up the room._

The scientist rolled her eyes at the sappy, sentimental statement that really didn't seem all that much like advice.

* * *

><p>The next afternoon, the little chocolate was the first thing she saw. She thought it had been a one-time deal, but it clearly had not.<p>

It had been a crazy morning, something being woken up at dawn with a call about a mass grave generally tends to incite. She had been at the scene all morning and had only stopped in at the Lab to pick up some more supplies. Even then she had only gone into her office to quickly check the mail.

But she soon found that the heated air felt nice, was thawing her frozen skin. She knew she shouldn't have, but Brennan was beginning to ever so slightly relax, take a short pause from the chaos.

When she opened the chocolate, she immediately sought out the white circle with words on the inside.

_Take this moment. Enjoy it._

With the reasoning that Angela had wanted her to follow the little chocolate wisdoms, Brennan sunk further into her chair and breathed before her inevitable return to the tension, both professional and personal.

* * *

><p>By the third of February, Brennan had already begun expecting the chocolate with a saying inside. Starting her mornings off with chocolate was surely unhealthy, but, somehow, it was a perfect remedy, exactly what she needed.<p>

Making sure she didn't tear the wrapper, her fingers pulled the foil from the chocolate and quickly flipped it over to read today's motto.

_Tempt your sense of exploration._

Not knowing what to do with that piece of advice, especially as a well-traveled woman such as herself, she opened her drawer and stacked it on top of the other two wrappers. Just as she did physically, she stored that adage away for the time being, her attention returning to work.

Later that night, as she stared at the take-out menu, she felt bored with all of her regular choices. It was silly, but the chocolate-saying came back to mind. So, she chose completely different items to try and be different, to tempt her sense of exploration and stray from the over-chosen choices of her dull life.

* * *

><p>When she read the advice on the fourth day, her mind initially drew a blank. <em>Dazzle your sense of flavor <em>would have been fitting for the previous night when she was ordering Chinese to be delivered to the Lab.

But then she remembered hearing about a new Indian-Mediterranean fusion restaurant that had recently opened. She had been waiting for a reason to try it, whether that meant she had someone to go with, or simply a time when Booth would go with her.

Now, she had a reason, and she didn't need her partner's presence to feel validated.

* * *

><p>Before she left on the Maluku dig, Saturdays were commonly spent at the lab. It wasn't every Saturday, but it wasn't ever totally out of the question, either.<p>

After returning from the trip, Saturdays were as standard as Mondays or Wednesdays. Needless to say, she worked every Saturday.

Angela, however, rarely works weekends, unless called in, so Brennan was actually surprised to see her daily chocolate on her desk. That, and there was another index card.

_Bren, _the card read. _I don't think my feelings about you working today, or so hard and long every other day, need to be expressed. But, because I can't stop you, here's your chocolate and words. Take tomorrow to reflect, okay? – Angela_

Somehow her friend's concern got through to her. It wasn't enough to make Brennan immediately change her life, but she thought that maybe she didn't need to be working _every_ Saturday, even if it provided a much-needed distraction.

When she read the wrapper, a small, quiet chuckle escaped her lips. Resolved, she grabbed her keys, turned off the lights in her office, and walked out of the Lab.

_It's definitely a bubble bath day._

* * *

><p>Despite her extended weekend, at least according to her standards, Brennan was not a happy lady come Monday morning. It had started with a short phone call from Cam, and ended in a migraine.<p>

When she finally found the time to retreat to her office, all she wanted to do was turn the lights off for a few moments and just breathe. Constantly being around an angry Booth was trying, but putting on her composed, perfectly unfazed façade was exhausting.

Finally feeling a bit more in control, she flipped the lights back on and found the chocolate. She was still a bit frustrated, and her mood hadn't actually improved any past regaining control of her body. Therefore, when she picked the chocolate up, she wasn't totally in the mindset of being open to what it had to say.

_Happiness is never decreased by being shared._

She was feeling anything but happy but the simple little message made her want to change that. She changed her attitude and decided to help brighten the days of those around her with small gestures.

* * *

><p>The next day, February 8th, was better. She followed her routine—wake up, go to work, eat chocolate, examine remains—and accompanied Booth on his way to track down a suspect.<p>

Of late, the air between them had been thick with tension, many unspoken emotions floating around, making them both insufferable. Today, though, was different.

He seemed less perturbed and when he made a joke, she recalled her earlier chocolate and properly responded with an attempt of her own.

_Be playful with your love._

* * *

><p>Wednesday ended up being too busy for her to take the proper time to satisfy her new addiction of chocolate. She was aware that part of the addiction came from the good feeling that she was changing her life somehow, and that only fueled her desire to seek out the candy.<p>

_Be a little naughty with your nice_, the chocolate suggested. Stifling a yawn, a fleeting through passed through her mind and she knew exactly how she would achieve this goal.

Brennan marched onto the platform where a few of her interns were hovering over bodies. It was well past dinnertime, but she had assured Cam that she would know how old the remains shipped from Australia were by the end of the night. The Squinterns, therefore, had been volunteered to stay.

When she announced that they could leave, they protested. But, when she announced that she was going to "play hockey as well," they consented.

The rebellion, while completely unlike her, surged through her veins, and boy did it feel great.

* * *

><p>The message on Thursday made Brennan re-wrap the chocolate and wait. The square of foil that had told her, <em>Share a chocolate moment with someone you love<em>, had not been one she initially had wanted to follow. But, something inside of her, the Booth and Angela side of her if she had to guess, implored her to follow it, convinced her that the magic would be lost if she decided to skip a day.

Temperance Brennan does not believe in magic, but for whatever reason she suddenly wished she did.

After about an hour of looking over case files with Booth in her office, Brennan walked over to her desk and opened her desk drawer where the chocolate was. She couldn't come up with a way to offer it to him, and thought it would sound absolutely ridiculous is she offered to share the small piece of chocolate. A few minutes passed before he called her back over to the couch, having made a discovery.

She sighed and returned to his side without the chocolate. _Hopefully_, she foolishly thought, _the magic won't be lost._

* * *

><p>She knows that there is no way that Angela could have known what the next day's chocolate message would be, but somehow it was exactly the message she needed.<p>

_Failure is only the opportunity to begin again more intelligently. _

Brennan could agree with that, could find strength in that. Her mind traveled not only back to the day before when cowardice had gotten the best of her, but also to the night in his SUV, and all of the other times they had messed up.

With a small smile of renewed hope on her face, she taped the wrapper up next to her desk.

* * *

><p>What Angela didn't know about was Brennan's vow to begin spending less Saturdays at work, so when she walked into her office Monday morning, two chocolates awaited her.<p>

An index card was attached to the chocolate on the right. On it was an arrow pointing to the chocolate sitting on the left, instructing her to eat that one before reading the note on the other side of the card.

Ever one to follow instructions, Brennan unwrapped the first chocolate.

_Always give with your heart_.

As it did not particularly tell her to do something tangible, something that she could do or change in that instant, she pushed it aside without much thought and picked up Angela's note.

_If this doesn't work, Bren, I'm going to keep buying you chocolate until you get the hint. It's Valentine's Day. Do something. _

Brennan paused, all of the information and signals making sense all at once. The chocolate attached to the card was in the shape of a heart. Angela knew enough to understand Brennan's hurt, and, ever Angela, was trying to push her and Booth back together. She felt like this should anger her, frustrate her that her friend was once more meddling, but it didn't.

She opened the heart-shaped chocolate and read the inscription.

_Forget the rules and play by your heart._

It followed her all day. As she received all of the many phone calls, as they dealt with the odd wedding twists and turns of their current case, and he bashed the holiday. Then, later that evening, it came to her. The two pieces of advice came together and she knew exactly what she needed to do.

So she borrowed some guns and brought them to Booth because somehow she knew it was exactly what they needed, just like the chocolate had been exactly what she had needed.


	16. Pie

_**Author's Note: **__Hello, I'm Hart Hanson. (__Disclaimer:__ I am not Hart Hanson, just his more "eviler," "handsomer" twin). (__Disclaimer:__ I am not Hart Hanson's evil twin or any form of blood relative). And, because I am Hart Hanson (__see first disclaimer__), we all know what the ending of this chapter means. Consider the enveloped pushed as far as my arms will/are willing to reach (and note that it's as far as the 'T' rating will allow me to be without going to 'M'). _

**_Fun Fact:_**_ I wrote this in one sitting in a Lit Theory class. Uh, yeah. My mind wanders. Also, definitely my favorite to write. AND BOY HAVE I BEEN IMPATIENT TO SHARE THIS ONE. _

_**Setting:**__ Ooh boy, whenever you want it to be._

* * *

><p><strong>Pie<br>**_A baked dish of fruit, or meat and vegetables, typically with a top and base of pastry. _

* * *

><p>Her fingers slipped through his lips. His tongue darted out to get one final taste before they were completely removed. The sugar flirted with his tongue and he smiled in delight of the sweet taste.<p>

His eyes held hers as her fingers delicately picked up another piece of the blueberry pie and lifted it to his mouth. Even without the grin poised on her lips, Booth saw the seductive lure in her eyes. She was fully aware of what she was doing. She knew that her with pie was something of a fantasy to him.

He finished his bite before she leaned towards the table for another morsel. He was lying on his back with her sitting at his side. This time, before she brought the sliver of delicious goodness to his lips, he snatched her arm and brought her body closer to him.

With her face now inches from his, he guided the pie to his mouth. The bite left a tad of filling on the corner of his lip. Before she wiped the fruit off of his face with her own lips, which he was sure was coming, she lightly said his name. "Booth," she repeated when he didn't respond.

_"Booth!"_

The volume of her yell, especially with their close proximity to each other in her office, startled him, effectively waking him up. He shot up from the couch, the blanket that was over his body falling to the ground.

His face, or something else about his demeanor, clearly betrayed him and his not so innocent dream, the proof written all over her odd expression.

Before things could grow any more awkward, he clapped once and turned to gather his things. After putting his gun back on his belt and draping his coat over his arm, he turned back to her and asked, "Want some pie, Bones?"

She grinned.


	17. Question

**_Author's Note: _**_This one was originally titled "Withdrawal" before I foolishly remembered that 'W' was already written. Fail. So, it's maybe not the best fit noun-story wise, but it actually works (and better than my previous tries: unconnected, vacuation, etc.)._

_**Fun Fact:** I came home last night to Dove Chocolates sitting on the kitchen table. I ate a few and here's what they said: "Remember your first crush," "Laugh until your heart overflows" (I actually got that twice), "Linger over chocolate longer," "The best things in life are chocolate," and "Do something spontaneous" (I don't know how to do this one). I'm abiding by their advice. You should too. Or, even better yet, you should get a bag and see what insights the chocolate has for you. _

_**Warning:** Sucky day for me to post this, because it's not the happiest. My bad.  
><em>

**_Setting: _**_S6E01._

* * *

><p><strong>Question<br>**_A sentence worded or expressed so as to elicit information._

* * *

><p>Asking if they met anyone was their silent acknowledgement that the trip was not completely for what they said it was. The trip was not all about fulfilling duty or discovering important historical links between present day humans and those of the past. Their planned time apart was not completely a result of being overwhelmed with their emotionally tolling careers. A part of it, and quite possibly a large part of it, was them running away from each other.<p>

It was his way of trying to get her out his mind, scrapped out of his heart. He was broken by rejection, frustrated by her stubbornness, and just overall uncomfortable by her presence. She sent mixed messages, saying one thing but acting out another, and his heart simply could no longer take it.

Those times, when her actions seemed as if she had changed her mind, killed him inside, a little more every time. She was so close, and it felt so natural, but then he remembered her words.

He had told her he planned on moving on, _needed_ to move past her, but being so consumed by her every move kept him in limbo; it kept him from being able to give any other woman an actual shot.

On her end, the yearlong sabbatical was her way of deciphering her feelings, checking what she wanted. She was no longer sure if she could keep her end of the "just partners" agreement. She didn't know if what she said that night outside Sweets' office was true anymore.

It didn't hit her the moment she said no, the grief, but it hit her later that night. And when she saw him the next day. And the next day. She was able to hide it well, at least she thought she was, but it ate her up inside.

She saw no way out, saw no way to approach him and say, "I changed my mind." He would question her and their partnership would be worse off than before.

Maybe she was foolish, but she thought the break from each other would clear their minds, allow them to come back and be them again, maybe with the addition of something more. When the possibility was shot down she suddenly knew how he felt, at least a little.

He said he found someone while they were apart. That was his way of saying he'd moved on, his silent way of saying he did what he said he would, what he claimed he needed. That she was now, and would be, something of the past.

They were the words that first cracked her heart, the first blow of the carving pic that cracked the granite instead of beginning to form a beautiful masterpiece. It was the simple exchange that started everything, that drew them further apart than when they had been on opposite sides of the world. It was the beginning of what seemed like the end.


	18. Rubber Band

**_Author's Note: _**_If there's one thing different about this story in comparison to Adjectives, it's the amount of risks I've taken. I've done a few "different" things, and this is one of them based off of the character it uses. We shall see how it floats with all of you. ALSO, thank you all for the lovely response I have gotten for this story! It means so very much._

_**Setting: **Uh, sometime after "The Yanks in the U.K." (S4E01/2, Part 2), when Hodgins and Angela break up, "The Finger in the Nest" (S4E03), when Hodgins is basically mad at the world, and "The Skull in the Sculpture" (S4E07), when Roxie re-enters Angela's life. Hodgins is still angry for the purpose of this chapter. _

* * *

><p><strong>Rubber Band<br>**_A loop of stretchy rubber for holding things together._

* * *

><p>He was mad. Enraged, really. No amount of rubber band snapping could will away his nearly uncontrollable anger. It made him tug on his hair and stomp from one side of the room to the next, but no matter how much pain he caused himself, or how many times his fist hit the wall as he paced, he remained angry.<p>

He started out in denial. He didn't think it was permanent. He figured that one of them would realize they were wrong and they would fix it together. But then he realized that it was final, that their decision wasn't going to change.

At some point he had transitioned into a state of brokenness. The woman he loved, and whom he wanted to marry, had given up on him. It had been mutual but that honestly didn't make the break any less heart wrenching.

She found someone else. He could pretend to be happy for her to her face and try to appear genuine around others. No matter what, though, he couldn't fool himself. It frustrated him, lit a raging fire within him that she was able to so quickly move on. He hated her for it. He hated everyone else by association. The world made him angry. Every breath he took was warmed by that fire, and it burned his lungs.

In the room's mirror he saw his reflection. He looked haggard. His skin was blotchy and his face and neck were bright red. The veins on his forehead and his neck were pulsating. His hair was matted down on his scalp by sweat, his eyes red and puffy from tears.

The image evoked his temper even more and, before he could think, he grabbed a bottle of scotch and threw it at a wall. The glass shattered and fell to the ground into a puddle of expensive liquor. Broken shards of glass struck by the dim light caught his eye, but not his attention.

Hodgins ran his hand through his hair once before resuming his pacing and rubber band snapping, hoping one of the techniques might calm his heart engulfed by the flames of anger.


	19. Secret

**_Author's Note:_**_ This is another one of the ideas that really struck me and I enjoyed. It's a bit silly/cracky, but hopefully you'll enjoy it? _

**_Setting:_**_ Ugh. This one's a slippery little patch of hair. Okay, so... Angela broke up with Hodgins in "The Yanks in the U.K." specifically Pt. 2 (S4E2). Sometime after that, Angela dates Roxie and they break up in "The Salt in the Wounds" (S4E16). This chapter takes place sometime after "The Salt in the Wounds." I think. But from there it's my own timeline. _

* * *

><p><strong>Secret<br>**_Something that is kept or meant to be kept unknown or unseen by others._

* * *

><p>Angela was wasted. The adjective didn't really do her predicament justice as she had passed "wasted" and "plastered" before the last four rounds of drinks. Normally, she wouldn't consume so much hard liquor but tonight she had two things to accomplish that could only be achieved inebriated: forget about her broken heart, and set an example for Brennan. Tonight she was getting what she called in college "shit faced" to help convince Brennan to <em>really<em> drink.

Hodgins was amongst the gang that headed to the bar, but once her tequila goggles were on, she barely noticed him. Instead she zeroed in on how Booth and Brennan weren't sitting together. At one end of the bar, Booth sat with Cam, and on the other end Brennan was far too sober, illustrated by how scientifically correct she still sounded.

After downing another shot, Angela threw her arms above her head and wiggled her hips on her way over to Booth. He and Cam shared a smile before Cam reached for her beer and went to the other side of the bar with most of her team.

The drunken woman loosely wrapped her arm around Booth as he sat on the barstool. She swung her body around so her back was pressed against the bar but her face was close to his. "I know something you don't know," she whispered. Her whisper was more of a quiet yell as her mind wasn't working to its fullest due to the alcohol.

Booth gave her a small grin, having just the right amount to drink to be sober but to still find her game, and state, amusing. "Oh, really."

She nodded and gave him a full-mouth smile. "Mhm." She nodded her head. She leaned even closer and added, "Shh… it's a secret."

"A secret, huh? Maybe you shouldn't tell me then."

Angela turned back to the bar and picked up another shot. She leaned her elbows on the wood. Booth mirrored her position. "See her, over there?" She pointed to Brennan with the hand that was fisting her nth drink. "She's in love with you."

He fought to remain cool, multiple thoughts running through his mind. _Angela's drunk_, he reminded himself. _Her words are probably only her opinion… But it could mean she's being completely truthful. Bones doesn't believe in love, right?_

He croaked, "How do you know?"

She rolled her head and looked at Booth, her chin dipping down then back up. "She told me."

This time Booth took the shot Angela ordered and downed it in one gulp. Angela called Brennan's name and frantically waved. When Brennan looked up, she politely smiled at her friend before raising her eyebrows as her partner. He rolled his eyes and mouthed, "Tequila."

Angela scooted her way over to Brennan. Before Brennan could enquire how many drinks Angela had, the said friend giggled, "I have a secret. I told _Booth_ that you told _me_ that you! Love! Him!" The alcohol was now seriously affecting her speech and how much unneeded emotion she added to it.

To see if what she said was true, Brennan's gaze flew to Booth. It was obvious by the look on his face and his forced smile that didn't meet his eyes that Angela had indeed told him.

Both expressions fell serious and any small degree they were from sobriety was instantaneously erased. Their eye contact said it all.

Without saying anything to Angela, Brennan placed a few dollars on the bar and walked over to Booth. He did the same. He took her coat from her, surprisingly without any protest, and placed a hand on her wrist.

"We should talk."

He was surprised to hear the very words he was thinking come from her lips, but he found himself pleased at the same time.

They both knew that they couldn't wait, that the need to talk and the feelings rushing through their veins would quickly evaporate in the span of a drive to another location. Therefore, when he offered her his arm and suggested they take a walk, she agreed in fullest.

Angela, drunk beyond any justice-providing adjectives, watched the whole scene transpire. When they left the bar together, arm in arm, Angela yelled, "Brown Chicken, Brown Cow!" Her exclamation garnered many catcalls and claps.

Hodgins was more focused on his ex-fiance's mental, and emotional, state and stood from his chair to see her home. Wendell's hand on his upper arm stopped him. With a knowing look, Wendell said, "Let me," hoping to stop a serious, heated battle of the exes.

As Wendell, ever the good friend to both Hodgins and Angela, escorted her out, she started sobbing and cheering for love intermittently. For all the parties involved, it was going to be a long night.


	20. Tango

_**Author's Note: **__I prefer the Tango Argentino. If you need examples here are three from So You Think You Can Dance on YouTube (separated by '**and**'): (www . youtube . com / ) watch?v=E81hcQQRm5s **and** watch?v=ovAAj_CvlRQ **and** watch?v=nggjNOE3eQI_

_Now, as for the Paso Doble… watch?v=K3UCCPQ2WNo_

_For the record, I know _absolutely nothing_ about dance. _Nothing_. So, excuse all my mess-ups. _

_**Setting: **__The story outlines the various times enough for understanding. And it's irrelevant, as usual._

* * *

><p><strong>Tango<br>**_The styles of the Tango are mostly danced in either open embrace, where lead and follow (partners) have space between their bodies, or close embrace, where the lead and follow connect either chest-to-chest (Argentine Tango), or in the upper thigh/hip area (American and International Tango)._

* * *

><p>It started out as a facade. He held the information, kept the choreography from her to see what she could do. He was testing her, examining her from afar. She danced with a hardened grace; her leaps were magnificent, high, and boundless, but she always seemed to land with a loud thud.<p>

She pulled every trick, every move out of her acquired training. It wasn't for a lack of skill or experience, but a lack of patience. She didn't appreciate his plan, or apparent lack there of. Eventually, she stopped dancing, inadvertently called him on his bluff.

And so he started dancing with her, one hand on the small of her back, the other clasping hers. They started off at a respectable distance, an open embrace, but in a short amount of times, their chests were pressed together in a close embrace, sweat prickling up on their skin from the heat created by this new partnership. They were about to start a show-stopping trick, a lift that, once started, wouldn't be able to be stopped. But he took her by surprise, turned her body, and dipped her backwards. Then he tried to do the lift, but she was too alarmed to trust being in his arms. She halted.

She ran off, stayed away until he blackmailed her to dance once more. She set parameters, didn't let them dance close to each other again. The tango would no longer be an option, she made clear. No Rhumbas, Cha-Chas, or any other spicy Latino dances.

They started the Paso Doble, dancing around each other, the tension building the longer the dance went. There wasn't a real order of steps but they both understood what not to do. They kept their distance, the occasional small step bringing them closer but never lasting. If she moved forward, he moved back. If he advanced, she slid to the side.

As more time passed in their long dance, they begun to drift towards each other with increasing frequency. Often their chests or limbs brushed, the tension heightening even more, but they always ended further apart than wherever they had started before.

Avoidance: it was a routine they perfected.

But somehow, in an instant, the dance transformed into something completely different. The tense moments of coming closer and closer to each other in their Paso Doble ended in a fit of escaped passion and the mood changed.

Slowly, they danced together, cradling each other with an intimacy and a deep, accepted, shared love.

_This_ is their favorite dance—simple, true, and together.


	21. Unicycle

_**Author's Note: **__Remember the circus episode in Season 4 ("Double Trouble in the Panhandle")? Well, what if Brennan was even sillier or they didn't cement their act so quickly? This is what would have happened, according to/in my silly mind. And yes, it's dialogue heavy—I think that adding much else would ruin the humor. I just felt the need to defend my decision _before_ getting flamed. _

_**Setting:** "Double Trouble in the Panhandle." S4._

_**Warning: **Absolute silliness. Utterly ridiculous. Definitely fictitious.  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Unicycle<br>**_A vehicle with one wheel, especially a pedal-driven device kept upright and steered by body balance, commonly used by acrobats and other performers._

* * *

><p>"Can we talk about our act now?"<p>

Booth continued shaking the trailer, staying in tempo with her back and forth, despite his exasperation. "You're going to stand against a board and I'm going to throw knives around your body. There's nothing more to it."

"You should throw the knives while riding a unicycle," she suggested, her voice slightly breathy from the exertion of pushing the trailer side to side to fake sex, and because of her excitement about the idea.

"A unicycle," he deadpanned.

She cocked her head to the side, eyebrows furrowed and all. "I don't understand your tone. It would greatly heighten the suspense!"

His face blank, he answered, "No," and fter a pause he added, "I think it's been long enough," dropped his hands from the walls, and moved past her to the kitchen.

* * *

><p>"I have an idea!"<p>

Booth groaned. Not only was he nervous about accidentally killing her, but now he had to find Russian costumes. _Russian_ costumes.

He didn't answer.

"Don't you want to hear my proposition?"

"Does it involve a unicycle?" he sighed.

"Yes."

"Then no."

* * *

><p>"Look!" She grabbed his arm, drawing his attention to where she was pointing. There was a group of muscular men standing around, talking conspiratorially. "Look! He's riding a unicycle!"<p>

Booth pulled away and started walking to their trailer, which was _not_ precariously balanced on only one wheel.

Brennan jogged to catch up to him. "I have excellent balance and display the ability to quickly learn new skills. I could ride back and forth in front of the board while you throw!"

"No. You will be standing still while I pray I don't kill you."

"But what about—?"

"No buts."

* * *

><p>This time, it was Booth who brought the odd mode of transportation up. "What's your obsession with unicycles, anyways?"<p>

Brennan shrugged, eyes focused on the costume in her lap. "I always wanted one when I was younger."

Booth nodded his head but made no comment.

"Does this mean we can incorporate a unicycle into our act?"

A loud "No!" was heard across the entire lot, and the unicycle matter was settled... for then.


	22. Vagabond

**_Author's Note:_**_ We're almost to the eeennnddd, we're almost to the eennnndd. (Yes, I sung that.) Anyways, this is a noun that took its own direction once I started writing it. So, it might not be the best fit, but it's my game, I can do whatever I want. Thanks again to everyone! You're all so very supportive and AWESOME._

**_Setting: _**_Do you really have to ask? Irrelevant. Covers multiple seasons. _

_**Important Suggestion: **You should listen to/scan the lyrics to "Anchor" by Mindy Gledhill before you read this. _

* * *

><p><strong>Vagabond<br>**_A person who wanders from place to place without any settled home; a nomad.  
><em>_An irregular or uncertain course or direction.  
><em>_A worthless person._

* * *

><p>Temperance Brennan once had a family. She had a mother who loved her, who braided her hair and fruitlessly attempted to talk boys and crushes with her daughter. She had a father who always made sure his children were having fun, who understood her and brought home fun experiments for them to do together. She had an older brother who protected and cared for her, who played Marco-Polo with her and would mess up her hair in a loving way. They were all together, and they were happy.<p>

But that family left when her name disappeared, when she went from Joy to Temperance, from happiness to restraint. Her world spun, and she begun to float away.

She no longer meant anything to anybody.

She drifted from residence to residence, intruded on "family" after "family." What she saw did not add up to what she once had. Some people would initially open their arms to her, would say, "Welcome to our family," but she never felt included. Other foster parents would simply bunch her with the rest of their charges, treat her as more of a meal ticket and a nuisance than someone they wanted to spend time with. Theses "families" were never actually families, whether welcoming or not.

In and out, from "family" to "family," no place to call home.

Eventually, she was on her own. She attended college, studiously finished assignments and papers and labs, but even within her major, surrounded by similar people, she never felt any cohesion of a unit, no bond.

She formed relationships, had brief encounters with people, but never really stayed in touch. Most of the time, this meant she slept with a man once and never heard from him again. It did not bother her, not then. By that point, though, she was used to being independent, used to being by herself, used to coming and going.

It took her a long time, years, really, to find a real family again. It started off slowly with the formation of a casual friendship and working relationship. Like all of her foster parents before, she was in control, had dominance and power of her own charges.

She got to boss around a moody Hodgins as she might if she were his mother, and mentored her own student Zack like she would a son. She grew close to Angela as a sister, able to share the occasional drink and laugh with her, but also ask her to help her with her writing, and, on occasion, her personal struggles. Booth was the pestering cousin, the outsider who wormed himself into the middle.

In them, with the eventual evolution of their unit, the addition of Cam, the loss of Zack, and the various accumulations of other interns, she found a family. In them, she found a home. But, most importantly, in them, she found an anchor, someone to hold her down whenever she fears, or whenever she wants to leave.

No longer does she need to flee, does she get spooked and run away. No longer is she a vagabond, moving with the wind. She an anchor to keep her grounded now; a family.


	23. Well

**_Author's Note: _**_I kinda really like this one. It makes me go "Aww," so I hope you do the same. For the record, I didn't write this because Booth and Brennan are going to be parents. It was one of those pieces I dreamt and then wrote. _

**_Setting: _**_Anytime in the future? To me, the setting isn't important. Like I said, it doesn't depend on anything other than the basis of Booth and Brennan's characters. _

* * *

><p><strong>Well<br>**_A hole drilled or bored into the earth to obtain water, petroleum, natural gas, brine, or sulfur._

* * *

><p><em>The families used to gather here<br>__With small ones circled 'round  
><em>_To cast their cares into the well  
><em>_And send their wishes down._

_- "The Wishing Well" by Marilyn Ferguson_

* * *

><p>The sound of a child's laughter drifted through the park, eliciting an image of a girl with auburn curls that shine red in the sunlight, and rosy red cheeks that bloom with her excited movements. She was no older than five, maybe six, and still believed in innocence and magic, two things she represented for the two adults trailing behind her small, bouncing form.<p>

When the parents of the girl laughed, a hint of corruption was always on the outskirts. In their lives, they had seen too much death and destruction, had witnessed stacks of corpses piled on top of each other. But, when with the little girl, their daughter, that utter lack of innocence seemed to fade, to be subdued by her bubbling presence. With her they could believe, forget about the evils of the world for just a few, fleeting seconds.

As the child skipped through the park, she stumbled upon an old stone well. Moss had long grown through the cracks and crevices of the weathered gray stones, and the rope to lower the basket had been chopped off, leaving only the knot. A few of the top-rim stones were missing, too, but their empty spaces added to the overall romantic feel.

"Mom! Dad! Look," she cried, leaving them behind as she ran to the well. "A wishing well!"

The woman had opened her mouth to talk about the cultural significances of wells in many different situations, but the man rolled his eyes and chuckled before turning to his daughter. He squatted down beside her and she asked if she could borrow a penny to make a wish. Ever the responsible, brilliant child he never was, she calculated all of the chores she would do to pay him back.

Out of his pocket, he pulled the dirty, copper-colored coin between his thumb and index finger. As if it was of the greatest importance of the world, he slowly placed the shiny coin into her precious, soft palm. "Wish wisely," he suggested before hoisting her up so she could better see over the top of the well.

"Be careful," the woman had admonished, but the other two giggled, thick as thieves. The mom stepped forward to add support around the girl's stomach, anchoring her into place.

The little girl closed her eyes, cradling the penny in her hand. Without realizing that her parents could hear, she whispered, "I wish that Mommy would marry Daddy, and we'd get a gerbil, and live happily ever after." She closed her fist around the coin, kissed her hand, and dropped it into the well.

With the air of her innocence, the girl wiggled herself back to the ground and looked at her parents. "Aren't you going to wish too?"

Looking into the woman's stunned eyes, the man replied, "No, sweetie. I think you wished for the both of us."


	24. XOXO

**_Author's Note:_**_ I know that you have been on the edge of your seats for days wondering what the next noun was going to be. Penandra introduced me to this amazing synonym finder__, but I only made guesses as to what would be in there. Instead, I went "AH" to CileSuns92 and, somehow, came up with an idea. I felt rather like Dr. House, pulling something invisible out of that conversation. You two probably think this is weird, but I must thank you both. _

**_Setting: _**_BEFORE TONIGHT'S EPISODE ("The Prisoner in the Pipe" S7E07). So this pretty much happens sometime after "The Crack in the Code" (S7E06), specifically once the house is done. I kept spoilers out of it._

**_IMPORTANTE: _**_Incase it isn't clear enough, the italic passages are letters._

* * *

><p><strong>"XOXO"<br>**_"Kiss, Hug, Kiss, Hug;" Hugs and Kisses._

* * *

><p><em>Dear Baby,<em>

_When your father and I learned about you, we were immediately delighted. We already love you and are anxious for your arrival._

_While we wait, I decided to keep a journal, a few letters and thoughts for you to read later in your life, maybe when you're waiting for your own children. It's a family tradition on my side of the family, and I look forward to passing it onto you. Hopefully I can impart some wisdom (and hopefully this little notebook will help me pass the time without going absolutely crazy from anticipation). _

_One thing, though, that I hope that you take from these letters is how much you are, and always will be, loved. _

_XOXO,_

_Mom_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Baby Girl,<em>

_A girl. I'm having a baby girl. A little girl to play Tea and Barbies with, to teach how to braid hair, and to buy clothes with. Your brother was fun, in his own way, but I've always wanted a little _girl—your father, too._ _

_But we can't decide on a name. Your father prefers Temperance, but I like Joy. He says he's stubborn and won't back down, but I think I can convince him. _

_Joy, my little Joy. _

_XOXO,_

_Mom_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Joy,<em>

_There are only a few more weeks until we get to meet you and we are getting impatient! The last finishing touches on your room were just finished by your dad and brother, and now all we can do is await your arrival._

_You haven't caused me much distress. Unlike your brother, you are not constantly playing soccer with my internal organs, or squeezing on my bladder like a toy. Doctors say you're smaller than he was. Maybe it's a girl thing?_

_I hope to see you soon._

_XOXO,_

_Mom_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Joy,<em>

_You're perfect, completely healthy. You have ten pink fingers with small, delicate fingernails. Your feet, so tiny and cute, have ten toes—your father triple checked. An adorable, small birthmark adorns your chin. I'm sure it will annoy you later in life, when you discover boys, but it makes you you, and it can only enhance your future beauty._

_It's your first day home, but I can tell that it's going to be a smooth transition. You're an easy baby so far. You sleep, eat, cry, and poop, some more than others, but when you sleep, you allow me to sleep as well. Kind, kind baby._

_Your father and I love you so much, and you've already got the males in the family wrapped around your finger. (Your brother constantly wants to wake you up so you two can play). _

_I love you so much, baby, but I'm sure you'll manage to find ways to make me love you even more._

_XOXO,_

_Mom_

* * *

><p>There were many notes actually given to Brennan, unlike the letters in the baby journal, but two stick out in her memory, and for different reasons.<p>

_Temperance,_

_Good luck on your first day of high school. You're an intelligent young woman, and I am proud of your evolution. Your father and I have every faith in you._

_XOXO,_

_Mom_

A note found in her knapsack, tucked into her pencil case. First hour homeroom, after being tasked to write her name, age, and a fun fact to share with the class, on an index card, she pulled out the green zipper pouch that held her favorite pencil and found the small, folded paper.

It reassured her somehow, knowing someone was on her side. The teacher seemed nice enough, but the kids around her, who did not seem nervous in the least, unlike the young Temperance, acted rudely.

A small note, a light touch, but a great impact.

The other note, in the form of a video recording, came late. It was for her sixteenth birthday, the birthday her parents missed, the first birthday she spent in the System.

The video letter did not have its usual signature, lacked the implied hugs and kisses, but Brennan knew that if her mom was there when she first saw the video she would have once more felt the loving arms and brushed lips of her mother. It didn't have to be said.

* * *

><p>All of the notes from her mom meant a lot—<em>mean<em> a lot—but it is those written before her birth and soon after that mean the most.

And now she understands, reading them. She is able to relate to her mom, to venture into an idea of how her own mother felt when she was pregnant. She can imagine her mom sitting at a table, rubbing her swollen belly, and trying to write everything she was feeling. She is sure her mom could not, because she is not sure she can herself.

When she feels a heavy hand clasp her shoulder, she jumps, the shake of her body flinging the hand away. "Those from your mom?"

Brennan says nothing, her chest tight, her throat choked, and her eyes stinging. Instead, she nods.

Booth remains silent as well, the hum in his throat as the only acknowledgment of her wordless reply, until she struggled to rise from her spot on the floor of the recently finished nursery. "Is there somewhere specific you want me to keep them?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head and clutching the keepsake box to her heart. The box bumped her belly, and her daughter kicked it. "I'll be in my office."

Booth let her go, knowledgeable of her signals and when she needs her own space. He stayed behind, let her walk down the polished wood floors on her own.

Once in her office, she sat sideways at her desk, her swollen womb keeping her from comfortably writing at the table. After adjusting the pillow at the arch of her sore spine, she pulled out a piece of stationary and a pen.

_Dear Baby… _


	25. y equals mx plus b

_**Author's Note: **Who waited until 9:30am Friday morning to start this chapter and has a Band-Aid on each hand? This girl. Who isn't entirely happy with the quality of this chapter? This girl. Who is busy beyond belief and may postpone 'Z' so that it's somewhat decent, unlike 'Y'? If you guessed "this girl," you'd be correct. I apologize. Life right now is stupid crazy and I'm literally working non-stop, up to the last minute, to barely finish things. (If I finish them at all). So, unfortunately, writing the last two chapters has been the lowest on my list of priorities/to-do's. If all is well in the world, you'll get 'Z' next week. If not, hopefully the beginning of the week after. I do not like breaking set schedules, but I don't want to give you a half-hearted chapter like this one for 'Z'. I'm really sorry. :(_

_**Setting: **Sometime… I think in the future. I've lost track of how old Parker is. But, as always, the setting is irrelevant OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT there is no baby. Booth and Brennan do NOT have a child together. _

_**Warning: **Math is involved. This is a special warning for all you math haters (like me). AND a warning saying, "Hey, I suck at math and could've very well done my math wrong" or just come up with an analogy that doesn't make any sense. They're both very likely outcomes._

* * *

><p><em><strong>y=mx+b<br>**A linear equation is an algebraic equation in which each term is either a constant or the product of a constant and (the first power of) a single variable._

_The equation of a straight line in the form y = mx + b, where m is the slope and b is the y-coordinate of the point where the line intercepts the y-axis._

_Slope-intercept form for drawing a straight line on a graph. 'x' and 'y' stand for any point on the graph. (x, y) is what the given point is written as. 'm' stands for slope (rise over run), and 'b' is the y-intercept (the place on the graph where the line passes through the y-axis which is the vertical line of a graph)._

* * *

><p><em>Find the equation (slope-intercept form) of a straight line that has a slope of 3 and passes through—<em>

"Bones! Boooooneeesss!"

Brennan rushed into the kitchen where Parker sat at his father's table, nervous about the boy's urgent tone. It wasn't a far stride from the master bathroom to the makeshift dinning area, but Brennan found that a multitude of panicked questions had plenty time to float through her mind before she saw him safe and blood-free.

"Yes, Parker?" she asked, pulling a chair from the table and situating herself next to him. "What's goin' down?"

The scraggly seventh grader cocked his head and stared at her for a moment, his left eye partially obstructed by the flop of overgrown dirty-blond curls. Shaking his head he replied, "Maybe Dad was right. I shouldn't teach you cool language. It sounds too... weird."

Brennan shrugged, another habit Parker had been pushing onto her, and angled her body to better see his homework. "Need help?"

He nodded. "We're working on 8th grade math. Mrs. Rodgers says we're real smart, and that we can do the advanced stuff, but I don't get it."

"Where are you stuck?" she interrogated. Without even looking, he pointed to the top of the paper. "I think you know your name, Parker."

He rolled his eyes and slid his index finger down to the first problem. When he first tried it, he hadn't even bothered to read the whole question. "It's too hard," he complained.

She moved the paper out from under his hand and scanned the question. Her brow furrowed, like when she's staring at a complex puzzle of bones and murder weapons, but her expression quickly smoothed, the answer quickly computed in her head.

"What is slope-intercept form?" she quizzed.

"Uh," he stuttered. When he couldn't come up with an answer, he opened his binder and shuffled through a stack of floating papers. Brennan made a mental note to later suggest he organize his binder. "Is it y2-y1 divided by x2-x1?"

"No, that is the formula for slope. What other equations has Mrs. Rodgers given you?"

"Well, there's y=mx+b."

Brennan smiled. "Good," she hummed, trying to encourage the boy. "Now, look at the question again and we can try to fill in all the missing information."

Booth snuck into the room and heard his son say, "Is this kinda like what you do? Like, when there's a missing bone of one of your dead guys, you have to find it? Or when you and Dad have all the pieces of a murder, like who was killed, how they died, and how they were all chopped up, but you have to figure out who did it?"

Booth chuckled and walked past them to the fridge for a bottle of cream soda. Neither of the two mathematicians noticed his presence.

"Sure, Parker. Although, technically, there are no bodies, murder weapons, or murderers truly involved in slope-intercept form, I suppose that your analogy is valid."

"Cool!" Parker exclaimed, suddenly sitting up in his seat. "So, the equation is like one of your really gross, slimy bodies, and I have to figure out who did it, but first I need to know who the murdered dude is, and how they were killed!"

"Precisely. The question itself is a bit like the bones because that's where all the answers lay—you just have to discover them. What does the question tell us?"

The boy concentrated on the question, reading it to himself a few times, before providing Brennan with the numbers given. "There's a slope of three, and a point of (-2, -6)."

Brennan picked up his pencil and wrote the numbers on the top of a scratch sheet of paper. "How do we put the slope of three into the equation?"

Parker's shoulders once more slumped, the excitement to solve the problem slowly burning out. "I don't know."

"That's alright, Parker," she said, patting his shoulder in hopes of comforting him. "Look at your notes and see what Mrs. Rodgers told you represents slope."

He ducked his head to scan his notes, curls blocking both eyes this time. "M?" he guessed.

"Correct. Why don't you start writing the equation now that you know the slope?"

"Alright," he sighed.

Brennan draped her arm around the back of Parker's chair to have a better view of the paper, and to be closer to him. She was not a natural mom, someone who instinctively knew what to do with kids like Parker, but over the years she had improved. Booth had given her tips, and she constantly tries to interact his son in a caring, friendly way.

Sometimes, when she feels like she's done something right with Parker, she'll look up and smile at Booth. The delight shimmering in her eyes and the pure look of joy on her face always manages to make him surge with fatherly pride and his own joy. The fact that the two most important people in his life love each other gets to him. He wouldn't admit it, but sometimes the happiness is so overwhelming his eyes prickle with unshed tears. (Brennan would never let him live it down if he cried).

"Is this right?" Parker asked, looking tentatively at Brennan.

She picked up on his uncertainty and made sure to beam at him after scanning the page. "Great job! We have the body, the equation itself, and now you figured out how the victim was killed, the slope. I think that the question tells us two more things—who the victim is, and where the victim was killed."

Parker's enthusiasm returned. "Study the bones! Got it!" After mumbling the question a few more times, he said, "Y is -6, and x is -2! The person's name is -6, and he was killed at -2!" Before she could say anything, he scribbled the new information on the page and started talking the problem out to himself. "Now we need to find the murderer, like Dad does!" To Brennan, he added, "That's b," in a way that sounded like _he_ was trying to teach _her_.

Wisely, she played along. "Precisely. Your dad has to do all the cop stuff, such as the investigating and interrogating. That's similar to working out the problem mathematically and putting everything together."

"I can do that," Parker piped, his eyes bright.

The two adults separately watched Parker scribble all over his sheet of paper, Brennan dutifully studying the math over the boy's bony shoulder, Booth leaning against the fridge with a lopsided grin on his lips. A few times Brennan noted something in his technique, or pointed out a flaw, but Parker was able to do the advanced math on his own.

"B equals zero!" he exclaimed, dropping his pencil on the table and raising his fists in the air. "I multiplied three and negative two, and then I had to subtract that from both sides, and negative six minus negative six is zero!" he laughed as he did some weird pumping of his fists (or so Brennan thought).

"Good job, you two," Booth congratulated, finally joining the group. He ruffled a handful of Parker's curls and kissed Brennan on the cheek. "You two make a great team."

"Just like you and Bones, Dad. You guys always get the bad dudes." Both Booth and Brennan opened their mouths to say something, but Parker beat them to it. "Come on, Bones! I want to do some more crime-solving math!"


	26. Zeal

_**Important Warning: **If you don't like long, sappy Author's Notes (which I don't), SKIP TO SETTING. Thank you, though, for sticking through this with me, and leaving all your kind thoughts. Every email truly brightened my day._

_**Author's Note: **It's here. The end. Wow. I feel like I needed a Hankie Alert, because I'm totally getting sentimental about it, may or may not have an itchy nose and itchy eyes from totally not getting close to crying. I've got some zeal going on. But that's irrelevant. Maybe not, because I need to thank people in a very random order._

_CileSuns92: You have been around since "Adjectives," and I have greatly enjoyed talking to you. You're super encouraging, and, even though our conversations often turn to topics like pasta, chocolate, or the color of Police cars, you often inspire me. Thank you for being there from the beginning.**  
><strong>_

_penandra: If it weren't for you, there's probably quite a few adjectives or nouns that wouldn't have been written! You showed me the light (aka The Synonym Finder) and have always been super helpful. You always have some of the nicest things to say to me, and I've really enjoyed befriending you. Thanks for everything!**  
><strong>_

_mendenbar: You crack me up. You cracked me up in the last series, and you cracked me up in this one with your philosophical and/or hilarious reviews. Often times, it was exactly what I needed, so thank you.**  
><strong>_

_Itsgoose2u:__ You, too, have been around since "Adjectives." From what little I've said to you, and you've said to me, I must thank you for your kindness. I feel like a broken record, but you flattered me with your kind words. Really, I've loved hearing what you've thought over the span of time. Thanks!_

_QueenoftheLab96 (props for your correct capitalization), alexindigo, my-completeness, daisiesndaffidols, KTrevo, musicnlyrics, and any other repeat reviewers that I missed (I hope I didn't miss any of you), THANK YOU. I know sometimes reviewing every chapter to a story can be a bit annoying, no matter how fantastic the story is (which I do not have claims of), so I really appreciate you giving me feedback multiple times! _

_TO EVERYONE: YOU ALL ARE THE BEST. ALL READERS, ALL REVIEWERS, EVERYONE. I cannot explain how happy you have made me and I really truly hope I've done your attention justice. _

_**Setting: **THIS IS ONE PIECE. EACH SECTION/WORD BUILDS ON THE ONE BEFORE IT. Also, this is a vague, metaphor-ridden piece about S6. I did not make everything obvious, so if you don't understand, A. I apologize, B. Review/PM me and I'll explain.  
><em>

_**Kudos to anyone who catches the tie between this chapter and one (or more) of the words from my "Adjective" series WITHOUT looking!**  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Zodiac<br>**_A chart linking twelve constellations to twelve divisions of the year, used as the astrologer's main tool for analyzing character and predicting the future.  
>- - -<em>

This was their moment, their chance. Now or never, live in the moment, the now. Momentarily happening and fleeting.

The stars were aligned, the calendar was set, and this was the time, down to the minute, that they were supposed to come together. They were different; two different astrological signs, two different ways of living, two different sets of belief.

This was the biggest opportunity for a scientific trial in her life—_of_ her life—and the biggest gamble he could make. If she treated them like science, they'd break, and he'd shatter. If he put everything he had into the pot and won her, she'd resent him.

If they both jumped, they could fall or fly. If only one leapt, one would be left behind. But, if neither of them jumped, if they both stayed on the platform at this station, the train would pass and another may never come.

A bull's-eye or a hit and a miss.

* * *

><p><strong>Zigzag<br>**_A line going at an angle first from one way, then sharply the opposite way, then back the original way, and so on, like the outline of a saw's teeth.  
>- - -<em>

He wanted to zag, to change and straighten the direction of their line, but she wasn't ready. She continued to zig, by herself, and he was forced to zag.

Then he left their shared line and found someone else to travel along the plane with.

* * *

><p>He zigs, she zags; he zags, she zigs. When he alters his course to chase after hers, to walk in a line parallel to or overlapping hers, she goes in the opposite direction.<p>

Sometimes he thinks she's running, changing her line to lead away from his the second she catches wind he's heading towards her. Other times he thinks that she was trying to search him out, but so was he—they were on the same page, had the same idea, but didn't wait for each other or communicate.

* * *

><p><strong>Zephyr<br>**_A gentle, mild breeze.  
>- - -<em>

They needed a push, a collective push that skates them in the same direction at the same time. Some people thought they needed to be set back on parallel tracks to allow them time to choose when they'd intersect; other people thought they needed to be shoved into a collision.

Their closest friends and family generally tried to facilitate a collision, but then someone new popped up on the plane. He was younger, but still a fountain of knowledge. He didn't push or shove, or even interfere, but he made a difference. He channeled the distance between the two and built a sail.

His last parting breath was the zephyr that propelled them further.

* * *

><p><strong>Zenith<br>**_The point on the celestial sphere vertically above a given point or observer; the highest point or state; a culmination.  
>- - -<em>

It all lead to the apogee of their lines merging and turning a new direction together. The stars were once more aligned and the future became the truth. They lived in the moment, didn't look at the possibility from every angle with a scientific lens, didn't fear being hurt, or hurting the other.

They came together, and together they were one.

* * *

><p>Ardor, fervor.<p>

Devotion.

Passion, fire, glow, warmth.

Exuberance, ebullience.

Vitality, animation, spirit.

Buoyancy, bounce, zest.

_Life._

_. . ._

**Zeal**.

* * *

><p><em>. . .<em>


End file.
